NATURE 

IN 

VERSE- 


LOVE JOY 


UNIVERSITY  OF  N.C.  AT  CHAPEL  HILL 

H  MINIMI 

00022226789 


THE 

GAMMANS  POETRY 

COLLECTION 


In  Memory  of 

GEORGE  H.  GAMMANS,  II 

Class  of  1940 

First  Lieutenant  Army  Air  Corps 

Distinguished  Service  Cross 

Missing  in  Action  January  15,  1943 

THE  UNIVERSITY  OF 
NORTH  CAROLINA  LIBRARY 


i 


u 


y/vvv^  a .  yvu^^j: ' 


Q\JrwJo 


t  fU, 


^ 


. 


This  BOOK  may  be  kept  out  TWO  WEEKS 
ONLY,  and  is  subject  to  a  fine  of  FIVE 
CENTS  a  day  thereafter.  It  is  DUE  on  the 
DAY  indicated  below: 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2012  with  funding  from 

University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hill 


http://www.archive.org/details/natureinversepoeOOIove 


NATURE   IN   VERSE 


A  POETRY  READER  FOR  CHILDREN 


COMPILED   BY 


MARY    L-  LOVEJOY 


SILVER,    BURDETT   &   COMPANY 

New  York         BOSTON  Chicago 

1897 


* 

CHOICE  READING  FOR  SCHOOLS. 


The  Normal  Course  in  Reading. 

By  Miss  Emma  J.  Todd,  Formerly  Training  Teacher  in  Aurora,  111.,  Public 
Schools,  and  W.  B.  Powell,  A.M.,  Supt.  Schools,  Washington,  D.C. 

A  complete  system  of  Reading,  comprising  six  readers,  three 
alternate  readers,  and  Primary  Reading  Charts. 

The  Rational  Method  in  Reading. 

By  Edward  G.  Ward,  Associate  Supt.  Public  Instruction,  Brooklyn,  N.Y. 
Sight  and  phonetic  reading  combined :  Readers,  Manual  of  In- 
struction, and  Phonetic  Cards. 

The  Young  Folks'  Library. 

Edited  by  Larkin  Dunton,  LL.D.,  Head  Master  Boston  Normal  School. 
STORIES  OF  CHILD  LIFE:  four  volumes. 
THE  WORLD  AND  ITS  PEOPLE :  eight  volumes  {including  two  in  preparation). 

Twilight  Stories. 

By  Elizabeth  E.  Foulke. 
A  collection  of  charming  original  stories  and  poems,  fully  illus- 
trated, for  lower  primary  grades. 


Copyright,  1895, 
By  SILVER,  BURDETT  &  COMPANY. 


NnrfoootJ  $rtss 

J.  S.  Cushing  &  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith 
Norwood  Mass.  U.S.A. 


TO  MY  NIECE 

Jffiarpret 


Speak  to  the  children,  Little  Book, 

And  bring  to  them  happy  hours ; 
Teach  them  to  rind  in  every  verse 

God's  message  in  the  flowers, 
His  loving  care  of  beast  and  bird, 

His  wonders  in  the  deep, 
His  patience  in  His  perfect  work, 

His  care  o'er  all  who  sleep ; 
And  learn  from  all  His  teachings  true 

How  much  a  little  child  can  do. 

M.  I.  L. 


PREFACE. 


THE  object  of  nature  study  is  twofold:  first,  to 
arouse  and  cultivate  the  habit  of  observation  ;  and, 
second,  to  impress  the  facts  thus  acquired  upon  the  mind 
and  the  memory.  What  more  delightful  medium  than 
verse  for  transmitting  the  beauties  of  nature  to  the 
awakened  perceptions  of  childhood  ? 

Children  are  natural  lovers  of  poetry ;  its  musical 
rhythm  pleases  the  ear,  its  charm  of  expression  stimu- 
lates the  imagination,  and  they  are  easily  led  to  search 
for  the  deeper  beauty  of  meaning. 

The  need  of  a  nature-poetry  reader  for  the  lower 
school  grades  has  long  been  felt,  and  it  was  to  meet 
this  obvious  want  that  the  present  volume  has  been 
compiled.  It  is  intended  to  cover  the  first  four  years 
of  school  work,  and  the  selections  have  been  carefully 
graded  with  a  view  to  adapting  them  to  the  varying 
ages  and  needs  of  those  who  will  use  the  book.  A 
division  has  been  made  into  Songs  of  Spring,  Summer, 
Autumn,  and  Winter,  and  under  each  head  will  be  found 
a  wide  range  of  selections,  from  the  simple  rhymes  suited 
to  the  younger  readers,  to  more  elaborate  poems  such 
as  older  pupils  can  easily  read  and  comprehend. 


Vi  PREFACE. 

The  scheme  of  nature  study,  as  outlined  in  the  school 
work  of  the  year,  has  been  carefully  followed.  Plants, 
flowers,  insects,  birds,  clouds  and  wind,  rain  and  snow, 
and  other  phenomena,  form  the  subject  of  diverse  poems 
by  different  authors,  and  the  teacher  will  find  no  diffi- 
culty in  selecting  such  as  are  best  suited  to  her  grade, 
and  to  the  lesson  in  hand. 

Though  primarily  intended  for  school  use,  it  is  believed 
that  the  volume  will  prove  no  less  attractive  for  children  in 
the  home.  The  poems  are  largely  by.  the  best  English 
and  American  authors,  and  will  bear  frequent  reading ; 
while  the  memorizing  of  them  will  afford  lasting  pleasure 
and  profit  to  their  young  readers. 

The  copyrighted  material  is  used  by  permission  of  and 
by  arrangement  with  Messrs.  Houghton,  Mifflin  and  Co., 
Roberts  Bros.,  D.  Appleton  and  Co.,  Harper  and  Bros., 
The  Century  Co.,  Lothrop  Publishing  Co.,  Charles  Scrib- 
ner's  Sons,  Kindergarten  Publishing  Co.,  Educational  Pub- 
lishing Co.,  and  the  publishers  of  the  Youttis  Companion, 
Independent,  New  England  Magazine,  and  Ladies'  Home 
Journal,  to  all  of  whom  the  compiler  desires  to  make  cordial 
acknowledgment  for  their  courtesy  and  good  will.  Her 
thanks  are  also  gratefully  extended  to  the  authors  who 
so  graciously  granted  permission  for  the  use  of  their 
poems,  and  whose  kindly  letters  have  been  a  source  of 
gratification  and  encouragement.  That  the  book  into 
which  so  much  good  thought  has  been  incorporated 
may  awaken  in  children  a  true  love  of  the  beautiful 
in  nature,  and  a  reverence  for  its  Creator,  is  the  earnest 
desire  of  the  compiler. 


TABLE   OF   CONTENTS. 


SONGS   OF  SPRING. 

PAGE 

The  King  of  Glory Holy  Bible  3 

The  Coming  of  Spring Selected  4 

Spring  Song „ „ . . .  .  Selected  4 

A  Spring  Song Children *s  Friend  and  Kindergarten  5 

A  Walk  in  Spring M.  A.  Stoddart  6 

A  Spring  Meeting Harpers  Young  People  7 

A  Song  of  Spring Helen  C.  Bacon  8 

The  Sunshine's  Caress Songs  and  Games  for  Little  Ones  9 

Sunbeams Selected  10 

The  Sunbeams Emilie  Poulsson  10 

If  I  were  a  Sunbeam Lucy  Larcom  1 1 

Spring  Harbingers Selected  12 

The  Seed , Selected  14 

Winged  Seeds Helen  Gray  Cone  1 5 

Nature's  Thoughtfulness M.  F.  Butts  15 

Work Selected  1 6 

u-How  the  Wind  Blows Selected  17 

Merry  Rain Selected  1 8 

April  Shower Selected  20 

p-Who  Likes  the  Rain  ? Clara  Doty  Bates  20 

Stop,  Stop,  Pretty  Water Mrs.  Follen  21 

The  Voice  of  the  Grass Mary  Howitt  22 

The  Grass „ .  Emily  Dickinson  23 

The  Crocus's  Soliloquy Miss  H.  F.  Gould  24 

The  Venturesome  Buds A.  C.  25 

The  Tree Bjornstjerne  Bjornson  26 

The  Tree Jones  Very  27 

The  Weather-cock's  Complaint » . . .  Selected  28 

vii 


viii  TABLE    OF  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

The  Leaflets Kate  L.  Brown  29 

If  ever  I  See Lydia  Maria  Child  30 

Little  Rain-drops Aunt  Effie's  Rhymes  31 

Rain Margaret  Deland  31 

The  Little  Lazy  Cloud Selected  32 

Forest  Trees Mother  Truth's  Melodies  t>3 

Hide-and-Seek Frank  Dempster  Sherman  35 

A  Laughing  Chorus Selected  36 

The  Snowdrop Songs  for  the  Little  Ones  at  Home  37 

The  First  Snowdrop Julia  M.  Dana  38 

In  April Emily  Gail  Arnold  39 

The  Pussy  Willow Selected  40 

Pussy  Willow Selected  41 

Miss  Willow Susie  E.  Kennedy  42 

The  Polliwog Selected  43 

Jack  in  the  Pulpit  Whittier 's  Child  Life  44 

Suppose Selected  47 

The  Arbutus Selected  48 

Wishing W.  Allingham  49 

April  Fools Emily  Huntington  Miller  50 

The  Mayflowers J.  G.  Whittier  51 

The  Flower  Bed Selected  52 

May Helen  B.  Curtis  53 

Apple  Blossoms Selected  54 

May R.  M.  Alden  54 

The  Violet Barry  Cornwall  55 

Flower  Dances From  the  German,  Mrs.  Anderson  56 

The  Violet Jane  Taylor  58 

Our  Garden Juliana  Horatia  Ewing  58 

Seven  times  Four Jean  Ingelow  60 

Field  Flowers Selected  61 

Almost  Time Selected  62 

Wake  up,  Little  Daisy Selected  63 

The  Daisy Selected  64 

The  Daisy , James  Montgomery  65 

Dandelion Kate  L.  Brown  66 

Dandelion Nellie  M.  Garabrant  67 

Seven  times  One  . .  „ Jean  Ingelow  68 

The  Lilac   Clara  Doty  Bates  69 

The  Chicken's  Mistake Phcebe  Gary  70 

Rover  in  Church   Selected  71 


TABLE    OF  CONTENTS.  ix 


PAGE 


Planted  Himself  to  Grow Selected  73 

Bird  Trades Selected  73 

The  Little  Doves Selected  74 

Changelings M.  F.  Butts  75 

Ragged  Robin L.  A.  Twamley  76 

The  Song  of  the  Storm James  Buckham  77 

The  Ground  Laurel Miss  H.  F.  Gould  78 

A  Bird's  Nest Florence  Percy  79 

Brother  Robin Mrs.  Anderson  80 

The  Chimney  Nest .Mary  Barker  Dodge  81 

The  Robin Celia  Thaxter  82 

Don't  Kill  the  Birds J.  Colesworthy  8^ 

Anxiety George  Macdonald  84 

Robert  of  Lincoln William  Cullen  Bryant  86 

Marjorie's  Almanac Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich  89 

The  Monkey Mary  Howitt  90 

The  Pigeon  House Blades  and  Flowers  92 

Now  the  Sun  is  Sinking Selected  92 

Lullaby E.  Cavazza  93 

Twinkle,  Twinkle,  Little  Star Jane  Taylor  94 

The  Stars  are  Coming Selected  95 

God's  Father-care After  the  German,  C.  M.  Harris  96 


SONGS   OF  SUMMER. 

Psalm  XXIII Holy  Bible  99 

The  Works  of  God Jane  Taylor  99 

The  Use  of  Flowers Mary  Howitt  100 

We  Thank  Thee Selected  102 

A  Song  of  Summer Selected  102 

Merry  Sunshine Selected  104 

Summer  Time Selected  104 

The  Sunbeam „ Selected  105 

Little  Sunbeam Laura  E.  Richards  107 

The  Four  Sunbeams M.  K.  B.  109 

Little  Nannie Lucy  Larcom  in 

A  Summer  Day Selected  1 1 2 

Music  of  Nature „ . . .  Selected  113 

Under  the  Greenwood  Tree William  Shakespeare  1 14 

Summer  Woods Mary  Howitt  115 


x  TABLE   OF  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

In  the  Meadow Selected  115 

The  River c Samuel  G.  Goodrich  116 

The  Clouds 0 . . .  Selected  117 

The  Dew Selected  1 18 

Rain  in  Summer W.  C.  Bennett  119 

Summer  Shower. Emily  Dickinson  120 

A  Song  of  Clover , , "  Saxe  Holm"  121 

Pebbles Frank  Dempster  Sherman  122 

What  the  Burdock  was  Good  for Selected  122 

Lily's  Ball Fun  and  Earnest  1 24 

Pansy  Song „ . . .  Selected  1 25 

The  Lily  of  the  Valley Percival  1 26 

A  Child  to  a  Rose Poems  for  a  Child  1 27 

Forget-me-not Selected  128 

Discontent Susan  Coolidge  128 

Great-Grandmother's  Garden M.J.  Jacques  1 30 

The  Poppy Jane  Taylor  1 3 1 

Chorus  of  the  Flowers Lucy  Wheelock  131 

Fashions  at  the  Court  of  Queen  Flora Lydia  Hoyt  Farmer  133 

Who  Was  She  ? Selected  135 

The  Butterfly Selected  137 

The  Butterfly's  Lesson Selected  137 

The  Grasshopper The  Independent  1 39 

The  Song  of  the  Bee Marian  Douglass  140 

The  Busy  Bee Isaac  Watts  141 

The  Mocking-bird's  Song J.  R.  Drake  142 

Suppose Alice  Cary  144 

Out-of-door  Arithmetic Selected  144 

Letting  the  Old  Cat  Die Selected  145 

The  Spider  and  the  Fly Mary  Howitt  147 

O  Lark  of  the  Summer  Morning From  the  Japanese  150 

The  Peacock Songs  for  the  Little  Ones  at  Home  150 

VjNTursery  Song Mrs.  Carter  151 

In  the  Swing ■ Eudora  S.  Bumstead  153 

Good-night  and  Good-morning Lord  Houghton  154 

The  Bank-swallows Selected  155 

Three  o'Clock  in  the  Morning R.  S.  Palfrey  157 

Who  Stole  the  Bird's  Nest? Lydia  Maria  Child  158 

The  Peter-bird Henry  Thompson  Stanton  160 

A  Fable Popular  Educator  1 62 

The  Birds'  Lawn  Party Child  Garden  163 


TABLE    OF  CONTENTS.  xi 

PAGE 

The  Happy  Bird Selected  166 

The  Hidden  Songster Selected  166 

Truant S.  A.  Hudson  1 67 

Ladybird,  Ladybird Caroline  B.  Southey  168 

Ladybug,  Ladybug „ . Selected  169 

Mrs.  Brindle's  Cowslip  Feast Selected  1 70 

The  Oxen Selected  1 72 

Mrs.  Pussy Selected  1 75 

A  Boy's  Song "  The  Ettrick  Shepherd  "  1 74 

The  Cotton  Plant Selected  1 75 

Two  of  a  Trade S.  W.  Duffield  176 

A  Summer  Lullaby E.  S.  Bumstead  177 

The  Song  in  the  Night James  Buckham  1 78 

Japanese  Lullaby Eugene  Field  1 79 

Cradle  Song Caris  Brooke  1 80 

Childhood  Fancies Mother  Truth's  Melodies  181 


SONGS   OF  AUTUMN. 

The  Seasons Helen  Adelaide  Ricker  187 

Lost :  The  Summer R.  M.  Alden  188 

Autumn Albert  Laighton  189 

Autumn  Song E.  C.  Stedman  189 

About  the  Fairies Selected  190 

Trifles. Colesworthy  191 

Sunshine Selected  192 

September Helen  Hunt  Jackson  193 

Goldenrod Mrs.  F.  J.  Lovejoy  193 

Goldenrod Selected  194 

In  September Sunday  Afternoon  196 

The  Spirit  of  the  Sunset Selected  197 

Gentian Kate  L.  Brown  197 

Marigolds Susan  Hartley  198 

The  Flax  Flower  Mary  Howitt  199 

The  Wind Mother  Truth's  Melodies  201 

The  Points  of  the  Compass Selected  202 

Autumn  Leaves Selected  203 

The  Little  Leaves George  Cooper  204 

A^How  the  Leaves  Come  down Susan  Coolidge  205 

October's  Bright  Blue  Weather Helen  Hunt  Jackson  206 

October's  Party Song  Stories  for  Little  Folks  208 


xii  TABLE    OF  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Little  by  Little Selected  209 

A  Chance Selected  210 

The  Chestnut  Burr Selected  210 

Nutting o Selected  21 1 

Little  Nut  People E.  J.  Nicholson  212 

The  Gossip  of  the  Nuts Selected  214 

The.  Squirrel's  Arithmetic Selected  215 

Time  Enough Selected  216 

Plant  Song Nellie  M.  Brown  21 7 

Hither,  Meadow  Gossip,  Tell  Me  ! H.  Prescott  Beach  218 

Maude  and  the  Cricket Selected  219 

The  Cricket William  Cowper  221 

The  Frog's  Good-bye    ' Selected  221 

The  Shining  Web Selected  222 

The  Wandering  of  the  Birds Songs  for  the  Little  Ones  at  Home  223 

The  Sparrow's  Nest Mary  Howitt  225 

The  Wild  Rabbits Selected  226 

Corn Selected  227 

A  Lesson Selected  228 

The  Child  and  the  World Selected  229 

A  National  Flower Lucy  Larcom  231 

Two  Wise  Owls Selected  232 

Tom Constance  Fenimore  Woolson  233 

The  Rainy  Day Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow  235 

November Alice  Cary  235 

Thanksgiving  Day Lydia  Maria  Child  236 

The  Raccoon Mother  Truths  Melodies  238 

The  Ant  an  Engineer Selected  239 

The  Day  is  Done Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow  240 

The  Setting  Sun Selected  242 

At  Sunset Mattie  A.  W.  Clark  243 

Twinkle,  Twinkle Mother  Truth's  Melodies  244 

The  New  Moon Mrs.  Follen  245 

A  Naughty  Little  Comet Ella  Wheeler  Wilcox  246 

Norse  Lullaby Eugene  Field  247 

Ho,  for  Slumberland ! Eben  C.  Rexford  248 

Can  you  Count  the  Stars? Selected  249 


TABLE    OF  CONTENTS.  xiii 


SONGS   OF  WINTER. 

PAGE 

Morning  Hymn Selected  253 

Bird  with  Bosom  Red Selected  254 

The  Four  Winds Frank  Dempster  Sherman  255 

What  the  Winds  Bring E.  C.  Stedman  255 

The  Fog Mother  Truth's  Melodies  256 

The  Rain Mother  Truth's  Melodies  257 

The  Little  Artist Selected  257 

Jack  Frost Selected  258 

Frost  Pictures . Selected  259 

The  Frost Miss  H.  F.  Gould  261 

Little  Snowflakes M.  M.  262 

Help  One  Another Selected  263 

Little  Snowflakes Selected  264 

The  First  Snow Selected  264 

The  Snow-shower Mary  Lundie  Duncan  265 

Little  Ships  in  the  Air E.  A.  Rand  266 

The  Snow-shower W.  C.  Bryant  267 

The  Snow-storm Selected  269 

The  Disappointed  Snowflakes Selected  270 

It  Snows  !   It  Snows Mother  Truths  Melodies  270 

Snow A.  E.  C.  271 

The  Snow-bird Selected  272 

The  Snow-bird's  Song F.  C.  Woodward  273 

Waiting  to  Grow Selected  274 

Come  Here,  Little  Robin Easy  Poetry  275 

What  the  Snow-birds  Said Selected  276 

Our  Sir  Robin Selected  278 

The  Christmas  Silence Margaret  Deland  278 

Merry  Christmas Selected  279 

Holly Susan  Hartley  280 

Said  Tulip,  "  That  Is  So," Madge  Elliot  282 

Winter  Apples Hattie  Whitney  283 

Dance  of  the  Months Selected  284 

The  Little  Pine  Tree From  the  German,  Eudora  S.  Bumstead  285 

Pine  Needles Selected  288 

Three  Trees Selected  288 

The  Body  Selected  290 

Two  and  One Selected  291 

What  the  Coal  Says „ . . . . Selected  292 


TABLE    OF  CONTENTS. 


The  Canary's  Story E.  V.  S.  292 

The  Little  Kittens Selected  294 

They  Didn't  Think Phoebe  Cary  295 

The  Beautiful  Island  of  Ceylon  Phillips  Brooks  297 

The  Ferry  for  Shadowtown Motherhood  298 

The  Star's  Ball Ladies'  Llome  Journal  299 

Our  Flag Selected  300 

Hurrah  for  the  Flag Selected  301 

Sweet  and  Low Tennyson  302 

Dutch  Lullaby Eugene  Field  303 

Good-night Sydney  Dayre  304 

Now  the  Day  is  over Sabine  Baring-Gould  305 


SONGS  OF  SPRING. 


o 

> 

w 

<u 

ft 

o 

J- 

<u 

JJ 

d 

=1 

o 

X! 

■^ 

<u 

w 

X 

p. 

(A 

c 

0) 

O 

o 

>■> 

CD 

W 

X 

'S3 

-a 

T3 

u 

C 

X 

a) 

03 

<D 

w 

03 

o 

w 

>- 

o 

6 

n 

03 

a 

£ 

<D 

■ — i 

X 

— , 

H 

Qowqb  of  Spring. 


THE    KING    OF   GLORY. 


HE  earth  is  the  Lord's,  and  the  fullness  thereof, 
The  world  and  they  that  dwell  therein ; 
For  he  hath  founded  it  upon  the  seas, 
And  established  it  upon  the  floods. 


Who  shall  ascend  into  the  hill  of  the  Lord  ? 
Or  who  shall  stand  in  his  holy  place  ? 

He  that  hath  clean  hands,  and  a  pure  heart, 
Who  hath  not  lifted  up  his  soul  unto  vanity, 
He  shall  receive  the  blessing  from  the  Lord, 
And  righteousness  from  the  God  of  his  salvation. 

Lift  up  your  heads,  O  ye  gates ! 

And  be  ye  lifted  up,  ye  everlasting,  doors ! 

And  the  King  of  Glory  shall  come  in. 

Who  is  this  King  of  Glory  ? 


The  Lord  strong  and  mighty ; 
The  Lord  mighty  in  battle. 
3 


NATURE  IN   VERSE. 


THE   COMING   OF   SPRING. 

THE  birds  are  coming  home  soon; 
I  look  for  them  every  day ; 
I  listen  to  catch  the  first  wild  strain, 
"For  they  must  be  singing  by  May. 

The  bluebird,  he'll  come  first,  you  know, 

Like  a  violet  that  has  taken  wings; 
And  the  red-breast  trills  while  his  nest  he  builds, 

I  can  hum  the  song  that  he  sings. 

And  the  crocus  and  wind-flower  are  coming,  too ; 

They're  already  upon  the  way ; 
When  the  sun  warms  the  brown    earth   through  and 
through, 

I  shall  look  for  them  any  day. 

Then  be  patient,  and  wait  a  little,  my  dear ; 

"They're  coming,"  the  winds  repeat; 
"  We're  coming  !  we're  coming  !  "  I'm  sure  I  hear, 

From  the  grass  blades  that  grow  at  my  feet. 

—  Selected. 


iXKc 


SPRING   SONG. 

"  A  WAKE,"  said  the  sunshine  ;  "  'tis  time  to  get  up  ; 

x\.     Awake,  pretty  daisy  and  sweet  buttercup. 
Why  !  you've  been  sleeping  the  whole  winter  long ; 
Hark !   hark !   don't  you  hear  ?     'Tis   the    bluebird's  first 
song." 


SONGS    OF  SPRING.  5 

"  Awake,"  call  the  streamlets.     "  We've  lain  here  so  still, 
And  now  we  must  all  go  to  work  with  a  will." 
"Wake,"  says  the  warm  breeze,  "and  you,  willow  tree, 
Come,  put  on  your  leaves  in  a  twinkling  for  me !  " 

"  Awake,"  breathes  the  air  from  the  blue  sky  above, 
"  Awake,  for  the  air  is  all  beauty  and  love. 
Wake,  little  children  so  merry  and  dear ; 
Ah  !  what  were  the  spring,  if  you  were  not  here  !  " 

—  Selected. 


^c 


A   SPRING   SONG. 


S 


OLD  Mother  Earth  woke  up  from  her  sleep, 
And  found  she  was  cold  and  bare ; 
The  winter  was  over,  the  spring  was  near, 
And  she  had  not  a  dress  to  wear. 
"  Alas !  "  she  sighed,  with  great  dismay, 
"  Oh,  where  shall  I  get  my  clothes  ? 
There's  not  a  place  to  buy  a  suit, 
And  a  dressmaker  no  one  knows." 

"  I'll  make  you  a  dress,"  said  the  springing  grass, 

Just  looking  above  the  ground, 

"  A  dress  of  green  of  the  loveliest  sheen, 

To  cover  you  all  around." 

"  And  we,"  said  the  dandelions  gay, 

"Will  dot  it  with  yellow  bright." 

"  I'll  make  it  a  fringe,"  said  forget-me-not, 

"  Of  blue,  very  soft  and  light." 

"We'll  embroider  the  front,"  said  the  violets, 
"  With  a  lovely  purple  hue." 


NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

"And  we,"  said  the  roses,  "will  make  you  a  crown 

Of  red,  jeweled  over  with  dew." 

"  And  we'll  be  your  gems,"  said  a  voice  from  the  shade, 

Where  the  ladies'  ear-drops  live  — 

"  Orange  is  the  color  for  any  queen 

And  the  best  we  have  to  give." 

Old  Mother  Earth  was  thankful  and  glad, 
As  she  put  on  her  dress  so  gay ; 
And  that  is  the  reason,  my  little  ones, 
She  is  looking  so  lovely  to-day. 

—  ChildrciCs  Friend  and  Kitidergarten. 


s^Jc 


A    WALK    IN    SPRING. 

I'M  very  glad  the  spring  is  come :  the  sun  shines  out 
so  bright, 
The  little  birds  upon  the  trees  are  singing  for  delight ; 
The  young  grass  looks  so  fresh  and  green,  the   lambs 

do  sport  and  play, 
And  I  can  skip  and  run  about  as  merrily  as  they... 

I  like  to  see  the  daisy  and  the  buttercups  once  more, 
The    primrose,  and  the   cowslip  too,  and  every  pretty 

flower : 
I  like  to  see  the  butterfly  extend  her  painted  wing, 
And  all  things  seem,  just  like  myself,  so  pleased  to  see 

the  spring. 

The  fishes  in  the  little  brook  are  jumping  up  so  high, 
The  lark  is  singing    sweetly  as   she   mounts   unto  the 
sky, 


SONGS   OF  SPRING.  7 

The  rooks  are  building  up  their  nests  upon  the   great 

oak  tree, 
And  everything's  as  busy  and  as  happy  as  can  be. 

There's  not  a  cloud  upon  the  sky,  there's  nothing  dark 

or  sad ; 
I  jump,   and  scarce  know  what  to  do,  I  feel   so  very 

glad. 
God  must  be  very  good  indeed,  who  made  each  pretty 

thing ; 

I'm  sure  we  ought  to  love  him  much  for  bringing  back 

the  spring. 

—  M.  A.  Stoddart. 


3^< 


A    SPRING    MEETING. 

(From  Harper's  Young  People,  by  permission.     Copyright,  1891,  by  Harper  and  Brothers.) 

HULLO,  Bob  Wren  ! 
Are  you  back  again  ? 
Glad  to  see  you  so  well  and  so  merry ; 
Fear  we're  here  rather  early  this  year ! 
Dear,  but  I  wish  I'd  a  bite  of  a  cherry  ! 
Just  ripe  in  the  South, 
Melt  in  your  mouth. 
Weren't  you  sorry  to  leave  the  sunny 
Land  of  bloom,  and  of  bees  and  honey  ? 

By-and-by  here  'twill  be  bright  and  jolly 
With  bud  and  blossom,  but  somehow  now 
The  atmosphere  seems  melancholy, 
For  there's  not  a  leaf  on  a  single  bough. 


NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

And  the  wind,  oh,  how  it  makes  you  shiver, 

And  long  for  the  balmy  air  that  blows 

The  reeds  that  quiver 

Above  some  river 

That  warm  in  Floridian  sunlight  flows ! 

Have  you  any  new  songs  to  sing  this  season  ? 
And  do  you  know  where  you  are  going  to  stop  ? 
We've  taken  rooms  in  the  very  top 
Of  "The  Maple"  —  prices  quite  within  reason. 
You've  a  flat  near  by  that  you've  leased  till  fall  ? 
How  nice !     Then  surely  you'll  come  and  call. 


>XKc 


A   SONG    OF   SPRING. 

I  HEARD  the  bluebird  singing 
To  robin  in  the  tree. 
"  Cold  winter  now  is  over 
And  spring  has  come,"  said  he ; 
"  'Tis  time  for  flowers  to  rouse  from  sleep, 
And  from  their  downy  blankets  peep  ; 
So  wake,  wake,  little  flowers, 
Wake,  for  winter  is  o'er, 
Wake,  wake,  wake, 
The  spring  has  come  once  more." 

Said  robin  to  the  bluebird, 
"  My  nest  I  now  must  build, 
And  shortly  you  shall  see  it 
With  pretty  blue  eggs  filled. 


SONGS   OF  SPRING. 

Then  let  us  join  once  more  and  sing; 

So  wake,  wake,  little  flowers, 

That  all  the  flowers  may  know  'tis  spring ; 

Wake,  for  winter  is  o'er, 

Wake,  wake,  wake, 

The  spring  has  come  once  more." 

The  robin  and  the  bluebird 

Soon  after  flew  away, 

But  as  they  left  the  tree-top, 

I  think  I  heard  them  say, 

"If  birds  and  flowers  have  work  to  do, 

Why,  so  have  little  children  too ; 

So  work,  work,  little  children, 

Work,  for  winter  is  o'er, 

Work,  work,  work, 

The  spring  has  come  once  more." 

—  Helen  C.  Bacon. 


>>Kc 


THE   SUNSHINE'S   CARESS. 

TO  the  little  brown  cradles, 
Where  the  leaf  babies  sleep, 
Came  the  sunshine  with  a  soft  caress, 
And  whispered,  "  Buds,  dear  little  buds, 
Throw  off  your  old  winter  wraps, 
And  put  on  your  new  spring  dress ;  " 
So  said  the  sunshine  with  its  soft  caress. 

From  the  cradles  they  peeped 

With  a  timid  gaze ; 

Just  to  answer  this  soft  caress, 


10  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

They  quickly  courtesied  a  sweet  "  Good-day  "; 
Then  donned  they  all  new  dresses  so  gay; 
And  they  said,  "  The  world  we'll  bless ; 
Thank  you,  Sunshine,  for  your  soft  caress." 

—  Miss  Jenfrs  Songs  and  Games  for  Little  Ones. 


^< 


SUNBEAMS. 

MERRY  little  sunbeams, 
Flitting  here  and  there ; 
Joyous  little  sunbeams, 
Dancing  everywhere. 
Come  they  with  the  morning  light, 
And  chase  away  the  gloomy  night. 

Kind  words  are  like  sunbeams, 

That  sparkle  as  they  fall; 

And  loving  smiles  are  sunbeams, 

A  light  of  joy  to  all. 

In  sorrow's  eye  they  dry  the  tear, 

And  bring  the  fainting  heart  good  cheer. 

—  Selected. 


>XKc 


THE   SUNBEAMS. 

"  "\JOW,  what  shall  I  send  to  the  Earth  to-day 
1   i      Said  the  great,  round,  golden  Sun. 

"  Oh  !   let  us  go  down  there  to  work  and  play," 
Said  the  Sunbeams,  every  one. 


SONGS   OF  SPRING.  11 

So  down  to  the  Earth  in  a  shining  crowd, 

Went  the  merry,  busy  crew ; 
They  painted  with  splendor  each  floating  cloud 

And  the  sky  while  passing  through. 

"  Shine  on,  little  Star,  it  you  like,"  they  cried; 

"  We  will  weave  a  golden  screen 
That  soon  all  your  twinkling  and  light  shall  hide, 

Though  the  Moon  may  peep  between." 

The  Sunbeams  then  in  through  the  windows  crept, 

To  the  children  in  their  beds  — 
They  poked  at  the  eyelids  of  those  who  slept, 

Gilded  all  the  little  heads. 

"  Wake  up,  little  children  !  "  they  cried  in  glee, 

"  And  from  Dreamland  come  away ! 
We've  brought  you  a  present :  wake  up  and  see! 

We  have  brought  you  a  sunny  day !  " 

—  Emilie  Poidsson. 


>X*< 


IF   I    WERE   A    SUNBEAM. 

"TF  I  were  a  sunbeam, 

J-     I  know  what  I'd  do  : 
I  would  seek  white  lilies 

Rainy  woodlands  through : 
I  would  steal  among  them, 

Softest  light  I'd  shed, 
Until  every  lily 

Raised  its  drooping  head. 


12  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

"  If  I  were  a  sunbeam, 

I  know  where  I'd  go : 
Into  lowliest  hovels, 

Dark  with  want  and  woe  : 
Till  sad  hearts  looked  upward, 

I  would  shine  and  shine; 
Then  they'd  think  of  heaven, 

Their  sweet  home  and  mine. 

Art  thou  not  a  sunbeam, 

Child  whose  life  is  glad 
With  an  inner  radiance 

Sunshine  never  had  ? 
Oh,  as  God  has  blessed  thee, 

Scatter  rays  divine ! 
For  there  is  no  sunbeam 

But  must  die,  or  shine. 


&Hc 


Lucy  Larcom. 


SPRING    HARBINGERS. 

OUR  Mother  Earth  is  in  her  loom, 
A-weaving  night  and  day ; 
Her  new  spring  carpet  must  be  done 
Before  the  month  of  May ! 

Just  see  the  stripes  of  red,  and  green, 
Of  yellow,  brown,  and  blue ! 

In  warp  and  woof  I've  never  seen 
A  web  of  such  rare  hue. 


SONGS   OF  SPRING.  13 

Our  grand  snow  king  is  melting  down, 

And  never  more  will  rise ; 
The  icicles  that  spike  his  crown 

Have  dwindled,  too,  in  size; 

And  busy  fingers  I  behold, 

That  weave  with  fairy  floss, 
As  on  the  bare  rocks,  hard  and  cold, 

They  spread  their  mats  across. 

My  heart  leaps  high,  as,  far  and  wide, 

Where'er  I  chance  to  stray, 
I  find  sweet  harbingers  that  hide 

Their  elfin  forms  away, 

Down  deep  within  the  tangled  woods, 

With  that  bright  swarm  of  bees, 
The  birds,  the  butterflies,  the  buds, 

That  seek  such  haunts  as  these. 

Weave  on,  weave  on,  dear  Mother  Earth, 

Thy  carpet  warm  and  bright, 
Of  warp  and  woof  thou  hast  no  dearth ; 

And  oh,  with  what  delight 

We'll  make  its  folds  spread  o'er  the  land 

In  length  and  breadth  complete ; 
And  praise  the  kind  and  loving  hand 

That  placed  it  'neath  our  feet. 

—  Selected. 


14  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 


THE   SEED. 

AS  wonderful  things  are  hidden  away 
In  the  heart  of  a  little  brown  seed, 
As  ever  were  found  in  the  fairy  net 
Of  which  children  sometimes  read. 

Over  its  pretty  shining  coat 

We  sprinkle  the  earth  so  brown, 
And  the  sunshine  warms  its  lowly  bed, 

And  the  rain  comes  dropping  down. 

Patter,  patter,  the  soft,  warm  rain 

Knocks  at  the  tiny  door, 
And  two  little  heads  come  peeping  out, 

Like  a  story  in  fairy  lore. 

One  is  the  Caulicle  creeping  down, 

At  the  first  but  a  wee  white  root ; 
The  other  the  Plumule ;  above  the  soil 

It  sends  up  a  little  green  shoot. 

Steadily  up  toils  the  slender  stem, 

And  only  its  work  it  heeds ; 
A  leaf  appears,  buds,  blossoms,  and  fruit, 

Last  of  all  come  the  little  seeds. 

Then  its  work  all  done,  if  an  annual, 

It  has  had  its  brief,  bright  day, 

And  now  at  the  touch  of  the  Frost-king's  breath 

It  withers  and  fades  away. 

—  Selected. 


SONGS   OF  SPUING.  15 


WINGED    SEEDS. 


OH,  gold-green  wings,  and  bronze-green  wings, 
And  rose-tinged  wings,  that  down  the  breeze 
Come  sailing  from  the  maple  trees ! 
You  showering  things,  you  shimmering  things, 
That  June-time  always  brings  ! 
Oh,  are  you  seeds  that  seek  the  earth, 
The  shade  of  lovely  leaves  to  spread  ? 
Or  shining  angels,  that  had  birth 
When  kindly  words  were  said  ? 

Oh,  downy  dandelion  wings, 
Wild-floating  wings  like  silver  spun, 
That  dance  and  glisten  in  the  sun  ! 
You  airy  things,  you  elfin  things, 
That  June-time  always  brings  ! 
Oh,  are  you  seeds  that  seek  the  earth, 
The  light  of  laughing  flowers  to  spread  ? 
Or  flitting  fairies,  that  had  birth 
When  merry  words  were  said  ? 

—  Helen  Gray  Cone  —  St.  Nicholas. 

NATURE'S   THOUGHTFULNESS. 

SO  busy  is  the  dear  old  earth, 
A-weaving  million  tresses 
And  making  for  her  forest-trees 
The  freshest  of  new  dresses ; 
A-spreading  carpets  o'er  the  dales 
Embroidered  with  sweet  posies, 
A-molding  petals  velvet  soft, 
And  making  up  her  roses  : 


16  NA  TURE  IN  VERSE. 

So  busy  is  the  dear  old  earth 
Her  spreading  meadows  over, 
A-storing  honey  in  the  cells 
Of  her  vast  fields  of  clover : 
A-carving  scarlet  lily  cups, 
A  setting  blue-bells  ringing, 
And  teaching  all  her  baby  birds 
The  newest  rules  of  singing ; 
So  busy  is  the  dear  old  earth 
Through  every  summer  morning  :  — ■ 
Pray  tell  me  why  this  eager  haste, 
This  marvelous  adorning, 
The  fringed  petals,  tinted  cups, 
The  wondrous  variation  ?  — 
Methinks  she's  getting  ready  for 
Her  boys'  and  girls'  vacation. 


—  M.  F.  Butts. 


3*K< 


WORK. 


DOWN  and  up,  and  up  and  down, 
Over  and  over  and  over ; 
Turn  in  the  little  seed,  dry  and  brown, 

Turn  out  the  bright  red  clover. 
Work,  and  the  sun  your  work  will  share, 

And  the  rain  in  its  time  will  fall ; 

For  Nature,  she  worketh  everywhere, 

And  the  grace  of  God  through  all. 

With  hand  on  the  spade  and  heart  in  the  sky, 
Dress  the  ground  and  till  it ; 


SONGS   OF  SPRING.  17 

Turn  in  the  little  seed,  brown  and  dry, 

Turn  out  the  golden  millet. 
Work,  and  your  house  shall  be  duly  fed ; 

Work,  and  rest  shall  be  won ; 
I  hold  that  a  man  had  better  be  dead 

Than  alive,  when  his  work  is  done ! 

Down  and  up,  and  up  and  down, 

On  the  hill-top,  low  in  the  valley ; 
Turn  in  the  little  seed,  dry  and  brown, 

Turn  out  the  rose  and  lily. 
Work,  with  a  plan,  or  without  a  plan, 

And  your  ends  shall  be  shaped  true ; 
Work,  and  learn  at  first-hand,  like  a  man  — 

The  best  way  to  know  is  to  do ! 

Down  and  up  till  life  shall  close, 

Ceasing  not  your  praises ; 
Turn  in  the  wild,  white  winter  snows, 

Turn  out  the  sweet  spring  daisies. 
Work,  and  the  sun  your  work  will  share, 

And  the  rain  in  its  time  will  fall ; 

For  Nature,  she  worketh  everywhere, 

And  the  grace  of  God  through  all. 

—  Selected. 


>**c 


HOW   THE   WIND    BLOWS! 


H 


IGH  and  low 

The  spring  winds  blow  ! 
They  take  the  kites  that  the  boys  have  made, 
And  carry  them  off  high  into  the  air ; 
c 


18  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

They  snatch  the  little  girls'  hats  away, 
And  toss  and  tangle  their  flowing  hair. 

High  and  low 
The  summer  winds  blow  ! 
They  dance  and  play  with  the  garden  flowers, 

And  bend  the  grasses  and  yellow  grain ; 
They  rock  the  bird  in  her  hanging  nest, 
And  dash  the  rain  on  the  window-pane. 

High  and  low 
The  autumn  winds  blow  ! 
They  frighten  the  bees  and  blossoms  away, 

And  whirl  the  dry  leaves  over  the  ground  ; 
They  shake  the  branches  of  all  the  trees, 
And  scatter  ripe  nuts  and  apples  around. 

High  and  low 
The  winter  winds  blow  ! 
They  fill  the  hollows  with  drifts  of  snow, 

And  sweep  on  the  hills  a  pathway  clear ; 
They  hurry  the  children  along  to  school, 

And  whistle  a  song  for  the  happy  New  Year. 

—  Selected. 


>ttc 


MERRY    RAIN. 

SPRINKLE,  sprinkle,  comes  the  rain, 
Tapping  on  the  window-pane ! 
Trickling,  coursing, 
Crowding,  forcing, 

Tiny  rills 
To  the  dripping  window-sills. 


SONGS   OF  SPRING.  19 

Laughing  rain-drops,  light  and  swift, 
Through  the  air  they  fall  and  sift ; 

Dancing,  tripping, 

Bounding,  skipping, 

Through  the  street, 
With  their  thousand  merry  feet. 

Every  blade  of  grass  around 
Is  a  ladder  to  the  ground  ; 

Clinging,  striding, 

Slipping,  sliding, 
On  they  come 

With  their  busy,  patt'ring  hum. 

In  the  woods,  by  twig  and  spray, 
To  the  roots  they  find  their  way; 

Rushing,  creeping, 

Doubling,  leaping, 
Down  they  go 

To  the  waiting  life  below. 

O  the  brisk  and  merry  rain, 
Bringing  gladness  in  its  train ! 
Falling,  glancing, 
Tinkling,  dancing, 
All  around  — 
Listen  to  its  cheery  sound ! 

—  Selected. 


20  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 


APRIL    SHOWER. 

PATTER,  patter,  let  it  pour, 
Patter,  patter,  let  it  roar ; 
Down  the  steep  roof  let  it  rush, 
Down  the  hillside  let  it  gush ; 
'Tis  the  welcome  April  shower, 
Which  will  wake  the  sweet  Maynowerc 

Patter,  patter,  let  it  pour, 
Patter,  patter,  let  it  roar; 
Let  the  vivid  lightning  flash, 
Let  the  headlong  thunder  dash, 
'Tis  the  welcome  April  shower, 
Which  will  wake  the  sweet  Mayflower. 

Patter,  patter,  let  it  pour, 

Patter,  patter,  let  it  roar ; 

Soon  the  clouds  will  burst  away, 

Soon  will  shine  the  bright  spring  day, 

Soon  the  welcome  April  shower 

Will  awake  the  sweet  Mayflower. 


:>XX< 


Selected. 


WHO    LIKES   THE    RAIN? 

"  T  "  SAID  the  duck,  "  I  call  it  fun, 
JL>       For  I  have  my  little  red  rubbers  on ; 
They  make  a  cunning  three-toed  track 
In  the  soft,  cool  mud.     Quack !  Quack  !  Quack  !  " 


SONGS   OF  SPRING.  21 

"  I,"  cried  the  dandelion,  "  I, 
My  roots  are  thirsty,  my  buds  are  dry ; " 
And  she  lifted  a  towsled  yellow  head 
Out  of  her  green  and  grassy  bed. 

"  I  hope  'twill  pour !     I  hope  'twill  pour !  " 
Purred  the  tree-toad  at  his  gray  back  door, 
"  For,  with  a  broad  leaf  for  a  roof, 
I  am  perfectly  weather  proof." 

Sang  the  brook :  "  I  laugh  at  every  drop, 
And  wish  they  never  need  to  stop 
Till  a  big,  big  river  I  grew  to  be, 
And  could  find  my  way  out  to  the  sea." 

"  I,"  shouted  Ted,  "  for  I  can  run, 

With  my  high-top  boots  and  my  rain-coat  on, 

Through  every  puddle  and  runlet  and  pool 

That  I  find  on  my  way  to  school." 

—  Clara  Doty  Bates. 


>K^c 


STOP,    STOP,    PRETTY   WATER. 

STOP,  stop,  pretty  water!" 
Said  Mary  one  day, 
To  a  frolicsome  brook 
That  was  running  away. 

"  You  run  on  so  fast ! 
I  wish  you  would  stay : 
My  boat  and  my  flowers 
You  will  carry  away. 


22  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

"  But  I  will  run  after : 


Mother  says  that  I  may ; 
For  I  would  know  where 
You  are  running  away." 

So  Mary  ran  on ; 
But  I  have  heard  say, 
That  she  never  could  find 
Where  the  brook  ran  away. 


Mrs.  Follen. 


THE   VOICE   OF   THE   GRASS. 

HERE  I  come  creeping,  creeping  everywhere  ; 
By  the  dusty  roadside, 
On  the  sunny  hillside, 
Close  by  the  noisy  brook, 
In  every  shady  nook, 
I  come  creeping,  creeping  everywhere. 

Here  I  come  creeping,  creeping  everywhere ; 

All  around  the  open  door, 

Where  sit  the  aged  poor, 

Here  where  the  children  play, 

In  the  bright,  merry  May, 
I  come  creeping,  creeping  everywhere. 

Here  I  come  creeping,  creeping  everywhere ; 

In  the  noisy  city  street, 

My  pleasant  face  you'll  meet 

Cheering  the  sick  at  heart, 

Toiling  his  busy  part, 
Silently  creeping,  creeping  everywhere. 


SONGS   OF  SPRING.  23 

Here  I  come  creeping,  creeping  everywhere; 

You  cannot  see  me  coming, 

You  hear  my  low,  sweet  humming ; 

For  in  the  starry  night, 

And  the  glad  morning  light, 
I  come,  quietly  creeping  everywhere. 


Here  I  come  creeping,  creeping  everywhere ; 

When  you're  numbered  with  the  dead 

In  your  still  and  narrow  bed, 

In  the  happy  spring  I'll  come, 

And  deck  your  silent  home, 
Creeping  silently,  creeping  everywhere. 

—  Mary  Howitt. 

THE   GRASS. 

THE  grass  has  so  little  to  do, — 
A  spear  of  simple  green, 
With  only  butterflies  to  brood, 
And  bees  to  entertain, 

And  stir  all  day  to  pretty  tunes 
The  breezes  fetch  along, 
And  hold  the  sunshine  in  its  lap, 
And  bow  to  everything ; 

And  thread  the  dews  all  night,  like  pearls, 
And  make  itself  so  fine,  — 
A  duchess  were  too  common 
For  such  a  noticing. 


24  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

And  even  when  it  dies,  to  pass 
In  odors  so  divine,  — 
As  lowly  spices  gone  to  sleep, 
Or  amulets  of  pine. 

And  then  to  dwell  in  sovereign  barns, 

And  dream  the  days  away,  — 

The  grass  so  little  has  to  do, 

I  wish  I  were  the  hay ! 

—  Emily  Dickinson. 


:>>©<< 


THE   CROCUS'S   SOLILOQUY. 

DOWN  in  my  solitude  under  the  snow, 
Where  nothing  cheering  can  reach  me  — 
Here,  without  light  to  see  how  to  grow, 
I'll  trust  to  Nature  to  teach  me. 

I  will  not  despair,  nor  be  idle,  nor  frown, 

Locked  in  so  gloomy  a  dwelling ; 
My  leaves  shall  run  up,  and  my  roots  shall  run  down, 

While  the  bud  in  my  bosom  is  swelling. 

Soon  as  the  frost  will  get  out  of  my  bed, 

From  this  cold  dungeon  to  free  me, 
I  will  peep  up  with  my  little  bright  head, 

And  all  will  be  joyful  to  see  me. 

Then  from  my  heart  will  young  petals  diverge, 

As  rays  of  the  sun  from  their  focus ; 
I  from  the  darkness  of  earth  will  emerge, 

A  happy  and  beautiful  crocus. 


SONGS  OF  SPFING.  25 

Gayly  arrayed  in  my  yellow  and  green, 

When  to  their  view  I  have  risen, 
Will  they  not  wonder  how  one  so  serene 

Came  from  so  dismal  a  prison  ? 

Many,  perhaps,  from  so  simple  a  flower, 

This  little  lesson  may  borrow, — 
Patient  to-day,  through  its  gloomiest  hour, 

We  come  out  the  brighter  to-morrow. 

—Miss  H.  F.  Gould. 


3^C 


THE   VENTURESOME   BUDS. 

LAST  autumn,  when  winter  was  taking 
His  last  cosy  nap  in  his  bed, 
And  each  little  leaf  bud  was  sleeping, 
With  blankets  pulled  over  its  head, 

We  crept  half-way  out  of  our  cradles ; 

The  sun  kissed  us  sadly ;  the  air 
Was  colder,  by  far,  than  we  liked  it ; 

The  pines  whispered  softly  —  "  Beware  ! ' 

But  just  then  old  Winter  came  roaring 
And  rushing  down  over  the  hill :  — 

At  the  first  awful  blast  of  the  trumpet 
Our  poor  little  hearts  stood  still. 

He  clutched  us  so  with  cold  fingers 
We  nearly  were  choking  to  death  ; 

And  rustled  us  so  with  his  breezes 
We  came  near  to  losing  our  breath. 


26  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

And  then  growing  tenderer  towards  us, 
He  made  us  white  hoods,  warm  and  nice, 

And  fastened  them  under  our  noses 
With  quaint  little  buckles  of  ice. 

But,  an  hour  ago,  a  dear  bluebird 

Perched  here  on  our  trembling  spray, 

And  sang,  and  sang,  and  sang,  and  sang, 
Till  he  sang  old  Winter  away. 

Now  we  must  each  meet  the  springtime 
With  a  frost-bitten  nose  or  an  ear. 

We  shall  sleep  like  all  the  sensible  buds 
When  Winter  comes  round  next  year. 


—A.  C. 


3>*C 


THE   TREE. 

THE  Tree's  early  leaf -buds  were  bursting  their  brown  : 
"  Shall  I  take  them  away  ?  "  said  the  Frost,  sweep- 
ing down. 
"  No,  let  them  alone 
Till  the  blossoms  have  grown," 
Prayed  the  Tree,  while  it  trembled  from  rootlet  to  crown. 

The  Tree  bore  its  blossoms  and  all  the  birds  sung : 

"  Shall  I  take  them  away  ?  "  said  the  Wind,  as  it  swung. 

u  No,  let  them  alone 

Till  the  berries  have  grown," 
Said  the  Tree,  while  its  leaflets,  quivering,  hung. 


SONGS   OF  SPRING.  27 

The  Tree  bore  its  fruit  in  the  midsummer  glow : 

Said  the  girl,  "  May  I  gather  thy  sweet  berries  now  ?  " 

"  Yes,  all  thou  canst  see  : 

Take  them  ;  all  are  for  thee," 
Said  the  Tree,  while  it  bent  down  its  laden  boughs  low. 

—  Bj'dmstjerne  Bjornson. 


>>*« 


THE   TREE. 

I   LOVE  thee  when  thy  swelling  buds  appear, 
And  one  by  one  their  tender  leaves  unfold, 
As  if  they  knew  that  warmer  suns  were  near, 
Nor  longer  sought  to  hide  from  winter's  cold ; 
And  when  with  darker  growth  thy  leaves  are  seen 
To  veil  from  view  the  early  robin's  nest, 
I  love  to  lie  beneath  thy  waving  screen, 
With  limbs  by  summer's  heat  and  toil  oppressed ; 
And  when  the  autumn  winds  have  stripped  thee  bare, 
And  round  thee  lies  the  smooth,  untrodden  snow, 
When  naught  is  thine  that  made  thee  once  so  fair, 
I  love  to  watch  thy  shadowy  form  below, 
And  through  thy  leafless  arms  to  look  above 
On  stars  that  brighter  beam  when  most  we  need  their  love 

—  Jones  Very. 


NATURE  IN  VERSE. 


THE   WEATHER-COCK'S    COMPLAINT. 

NO  wonder  he  creaks  as  the  winds  go  by, 
No  wonder  he  turns  with  a  misty  sigh ; 
How  would  you  like  a  living  earning 
By  turning  —  turning  —  turning  —  turning  ? 
Or  to  stand  all  your  life  with  a  pole  for  a  base 
And  the  winds  of  all  weathers  to  blow  in  your  face  ? 

"  Creak,  creak,  creak,"  we  hear  him  say, 

"  To-morrow  will  be  like  yesterday, — 

Now  to  the  east,  now  to  the  west  — 

One  never  has  any  quiet  or  rest ; 

An  hour  of  sunshine,  another  of  rain, 

It's  nothing  but  turning  and  turning  again." 

"  Creak,  creak,  creak,"  the  tin  bird  cries, 

"  In  quite  a  few  signs  the  secret  lies ; 

When  the  wind's  from  the  west,  there's  nothing  to  fear 

When  the  wind's  from  the  east,  a  storm  is  near  : 

Can't  every  one  tell  when  the  day  is  clear 

Without  keeping  me  turning  and  twisting  here  ? " 

"  Creak,  creak,  creak,"  the  weather-cock  growls, 

"  I  think  I'm  the  most  ill  used  of  fowls; 

I  never  foretold  bad  weather  yet 

But  you  went  in  while  I  got  wet ; 

Say  what  you  may,  I  don't  think  it's  right 

To  keep  me  twisting  from  morning  to  night." 

—  Selected. 


SONGS   OF  SPRING.  29 


THE    LEAFLETS. 


DANCE,  little  leaflets,  dance, 
'Neath  the  tender  sky  of  Spring; 
Dance  in  the  golden  sun, 
To  the  tune  that  the  robins  sing. 
Now  you  are  light  and  young, 
Just  fit  for  a  baby  play ; 
So  dance,  little  leaflets,  dance, 
And  welcome  the  merry  May. 

Sway,  little  leaflets,  sway, 

In  the  ardent  sunlight's  glow ; 

Oh,  what  a  sleepy  world ! 

For  August  has  come,  you  know. 

Many  a  drowsy  bird 

Is  drooping  its  golden  crest, 

So  sway,  little  leaves,  and  rock 

The  orioles  in  their  nests. 

Swing,  little  leaflets,  swing ; 
The  quail  pipes  in  the  corn ; 
Under  the  harvest  sun, 
The  cardinal  flow'r  is  born. 
Russet  and  gold  and  red, 
Little  leaves  are  gayly  dress'd ; 
Is  it  holiday  time  with  you 
That  you  have  put  on  your  best  ? 

Fall,  little  leaflets,  fall, 
Your  mission  is  not  sped; 
Shrill  pipes  the  Winter  wind, 
And  the  happy  Summer's  dead. 


I 


30  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

Make  now  a  blanket  warm, 

For  the  leaves  till  the  Spring-winds  call ; 

You  must  carpet  the  waiting  earth, 

So  fall,  little  leaflets,  fall. 

—  Kate  L.  Brown. 


>XKc 


IF    EVER   I    SEE. 

F  ever  I  see, 
On  bush  or  tree, 
Young  birds  in  their  pretty  nest, 
I  must  not,  in  play, 
Steal  the  birds  away, 
To  grieve  their  mother's  breast. 

My  mother,  I  know, 

Would  sorrow  so, 
Should  I  be  stolen  away ; 

So  I'll  speak  to  the  birds 

In  my  softest  words 
Nor  hurt  them  in  my  play. 

And  when  they  can  fly 

In  the  bright  blue  sky, 
They'll  warble  a  song  to  me ; 

And  then  if  I'm  sad 

It  will  make  me  glad 
To  think  they  are  happy  and  free. 

— Lydia  Maria  Child. 


SONGS   OF  SPRING.  31 


LITTLE   RAIN-DROPS. 

OH,  where  do  you  come  fromP 
You  little  drops  of  rain, 
Pitter-patter,  pitter-patter, 
Down  the  window-pane  ? 
They  say  I'm  very  naughty, 
But  I've  nothing  else  to  do, 
But  sit  here  at  the  window ; 
I  should  like  to  play  with  you. 

Tell  me,  little  rain-drops, 

Is  that  the  way  you  play, 

Pitter-patter,  pitter-patter, 

All  the  rainy  day  ? 

The  little  rain-drops  cannot  speak, 

But  "  pitter-patter,  pat  " 

Means,  "We  can  play  on  this  side; 

Why  can't  you  play  on  that  ?  " 

—  Selected. 

RAIN. 

"  Rain,  rain,  go  away, 
Come  again  another  day !  " 

OH,  the  dancing  leaves  are  merry, 
And  the  bloss'ming  grass  is  glad, 
But  the  river's  too  rough  for  the  ferry 
And  the  sky  is  low  and  sad. 

Yet  the  daisies  shake  with  laughter 
As  the  surly  wind  goes  by, 


32  NATURE   IN  VERSE. 

For  they  know  what  is  hurrying  after, 
As  they  watch  the  dim,  gray  sky ; 

The  clovers  are  rosy  with  saying  — 

(The  buttercups  bend  to  hear) 
"Oh,  be  patient,  it  is  only  delaying  — 

Be  glad,  for  it's  very  near." 

The  blushing  pimpernel  closes  ; 

It  isn't  because  it  grieves  — 
And  down  in  the  garden,  the  roses 

Smile  out  from  their  lattice  of  leaves ! 

Such  gladness  has  stirred  the  flowers ! 

Yet  children  only  complain  : 
"  Oh,  what  is  the  use  of  showers  ? " 

"  Oh,  why  does  it  ever  rain  ?  " 

—  Margaret  Deland. 


3^XC 


THE    LITTLE    LAZY   CLOUD. 

A  PRETTY  little  cloud  away  up  in  the  sky, 
Said  it  did  not  care  if  the  earth  was  dry : 
'Twas  having  such  a  nice  time  sailing  all  around, 
It  wouldn't,  no,  it  wouldn't,  tumble  on  the  ground. 

So  the  pretty  little  lilies  hung  their  aching  heads, 

And  the  golden  pansies  cuddled  in  their  beds ; 

The  cherries  couldn't  grow  a  bit,  you  would  have  pitied 

them ; 
They'd  hardly  strength  to  hold  to  the  little  slender  stem. 


SONGS   OF  SPRING.  33 

By  and  by  the  little  cloud  felt  a  dreadful  shock, 
Just  as  does  a  boat  when  it  hits  upon  a  rock ; 
Something  ran  all  through  it,  burning  like  a  flame, 
And  the  little  cloud  began  to  cry  as  down  to  earth  it  came. 

Then  old  Grandpa  Thunder,  as  he  growled  away, 
Said,  "  I  thought  I'd  make  you  mind  'fore  another  day : 
Little  clouds  were  meant  to  fall  when  the  earth  is  dry, 
And  not  go  sailing  round  away  up  in  the  sky." 

And  old  Grandma  Lightning,  flitting  to  and  fro, 
Said,  "  What  were  you  made  for,  I  would  like  to  know, 
That  you  spend  your  precious  time  sailing  all  around, 
When  you  know  you  ought  to  be  buried  in  the  ground  ? " 

Then  lilies  dear  and  pansies  all  began  to  bloom, 

And  the  cherries  grew  and  grew  till  they  took  up  all  the 

room. 
Then  by  and  by  the  little  cloud,  with  all  its  duty  done, 
Was  caught  up  by  a  rainbow  and  allowed  a  little  fun. 

—  Selected. 


FOREST   TREES. 

CHILDREN,  have  you  seen  the  budding 
Of  the  trees  in  valleys  low  ? 
Have  you  watched  it  creeping,  creeping 
Up  the  mountain,  soft  and  slow  ? 

Weaving  there  a  plush-like  mantle, 
Brownish,  grayish,  reddish  green, 
Changing,  changing,  daily,  hourly, 
Till  it  smiles  in  emerald  sheen  ? 


34  NATURE  IN  VERSE 

Have  you  watched  the  shades  so  varied, 

From  the  graceful,  little  white  birch, 
Faint  and  tender,  to  the  balsam's 

Evergreen,  so  dark  and  rich  ? 
Have  you  seen  the  quaint  mosaics 

Gracing  all  the  mountain-sides, 
Where  they,  mingling,  intertwining, 

Sway  like  softest  mid-air  tides  ? 

Have  you  seen  the  autumn  frostings 

Spread  in  all  the  leafage  bright,  — 
Frostings  of  the  rarest  color, 

Red  and  yellow,  dark  and  light  ? 
Have  you  seen  the  glory  painted 

On  the  mountain,  valley,  hill, 
When  the  landscape,  all  illumined, 

Blazons  forth  His  taste  and  skill  ? 

Have  you  seen  the  foliage,  dropping, 

Tender  cling,  as  loth  to  leave 
Mother-trees  that  taught  them  deftly 

All  their  warp  and  woof  to  weave  ? 
Have  you  seen  the  leafless  branches 

Tossing  wildly  'gainst  the  blue  ? 
Have  you  seen  the  soft  gray  beauty 

Of  their  wintry  garments'  hue  ? 

Have  you  thought  the  resurrection 

Seen  in  Nature  year  by  year 
Is  a  symbol  of  our  rising 

In  a  higher,  holier  sphere  ? 
Children,  ye  are  buds  maturing ; 

Make  your  autumn  rich  and  grand, 
That  your  winter  be  a  passage 

Through  the  gates  to  Glory-land. 

—  Mother  Trutfts  Melodies. 


SONGS   OF  SPRING.  35 

HIDE-AND-SEEK. 

NOW  hide  the  flowers  beneath  the  snow. 
And  Winter  shall  not  find  them ; 
Their  safety  nooks  he  cannot  know  ; 
They  left  no  tracks  behind  them. 

The  little  brooks  keep  very  still, 

Safe  in  their  ice-homes  lying ; 
Let  Winter  seek  them  where  he  will, 

There's  no  chance  for  his  spying. 

Gone  are  the  birds ;  they're  hiding  where 

The  Winter  never  searches ; 
Safe  in  the  balmy  Southern  air, 

They  sing  on  sunlit  perches. 

But  comes  the  Spring  at  last  to  look 

For  all  her  playmates  hidden, 
And  one  by  one  —  flower,  bird,  and  brook  — 

Shall  from  its  place  be  bidden. 

Then  shall  the  world  be  glad  and  gay, 

The  birds  begin  their  chorus, 
The  brooks  sing,  too,  along  their  way, 

And  flowers  spring  up  before  us ! 

Frank  Dempster  Sherman. 


36  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 


A   LAUGHING   CHORUS. 

OH,  such  a  commotion  under  the  ground 
When  March  called,  "  Ho,  there  !  ho  !  " 
Such  spreading  of  rootlets  far  and  wide, 

Such  whispering  to  and  fro ; 
And,  "  Are  you  ready  ?  "  the  Snowdrop  asked, 

"  'Tis  time  to  start,  you  know." 
"Almost,  my  dear,"  the  Scilla  replied; 

"  I'll  follow  as  soon  as  you  go." 
Then,  "  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  "  a  chorus  came 

Of  laughter  soft  and  low, 
From  the  millions  of  flowers  under  the  ground  — 

Yes  —  millions  —  beginning  to  grow. 

"  I'll  promise  my  blossoms,"  the  Crocus  said, 

"When  I  hear  the  bluebirds  sing." 
And  straight  thereafter,  Narcissus  cried, 

"  My  silver  and  gold  I'll  bring." 
"And  ere  they  are  dulled,"  another  spoke, 

"The  Hyacinth  bells  shall  ring." 
And  the  Violet  only  murmured,  "  I'm  here," 

And  sweet  grew  the  air  of  spring. 
Then,  "Ha!  ha!  ha!"  a  chorus  came 

Of  laughter  soft  and  low, 
From  the  millions  of  flowers  under  the  ground  — 

Yes  — millions  —  beginning  to  grow. 

Oh,  the  pretty,  brave  things !  through  the  coldest  days, 

Imprisoned  in  walls  of  brown, 
They  never  lost  heart  though  the  blast  shrieked  loud, 

And  the  sleet  and  the  hail  came  down, 


SONGS   OF  SPRING.  37 

But  patiently  each  wrought  her  beautiful  dress, 

Or  fashioned  her  beautiful  crown ; 
And  now  they  are  coming  to  brighten  the  world, 

Still  shadowed  by  Winter's  frown ; 
And  well  may  they  cheerily  laugh,  "  Ha  !  ha !  " 

In  a  chorus  soft  and  low, 

The  millions  of  flowers  hid  under  the  ground  — 

Yes  —  millions  —  beginning  to  grow. 

—  Selected. 


THE   SNOWDROP. 

NOW  the  spring  is  coming  on, 
Now  the  snow  and  ice  are  gone, 
Come,  my  little  snowdrop  root, 
Will  you  not  begin  to  shoot  ? 

Ah,  I  see  your  little  head 
Peeping  from  the  flower-bed ; 
Looking  out  so  green  and  gay, 
On  this  fine  and  pleasant  day. 

For  the  mild  south  wind  doth  blow, 
And  hath  melted  all  the  snow ; 
And  the  sun  shines  out  so  warm, 
You  need  not  fear  another  storm. 

So  your  pretty  flowers  show, 
And  your  petals  white  undo ; 
Then  you'll  hang  your  modest  head 
Down  upon  my  flower-bed. 

—  Songs  for  the  Little  Ones  at  Home. 


38  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 


THE   FIRST    SNOWDROP. 

"  T  WANT  to  get  up,"  the  Snowdrop  said, 

JL     As  she  loosened  the  wraps  about  her  head. 
"  It  may  be  the  world  is  white  with  snow, 
Yet  I'd  rather  be  there  than  here  below. 
'Tis  horrid  to  be  curled  up  so  tight  — 
I  want  to  look  out  and  see  the  light. 

"  My  dear  little  sisters  are  fast  asleep, 
And  I  am  the  first  to  take  a  peep 
Out  of  my  bed,  where,  snugly  rolled, 
I  slept  in  warm  blankets,  fold  on  fold. 
But  now  I  am  ever  so  wide  awake. 
And  it's  surely  time  for  the  morn  to  break. 

"  My  dress  is  the  prettiest  e'er  was  seen; 
'Tis  white,  with  an  overskirt  of  green, 
With  six  pretty  silken  cords  that  hold 
As  many  tiny  tassels  of  gold. 
Oh,  I  have  been  working,  never  fear, 
To  look  my  best,  when  I  do  appear. 

"  And  I  must  welcome  the  song-birds  home, 
There  seems  such  a  stirring  all  around, 
And  I  hear  new  voices  above  the  ground. 
The  buds  on  the  willows  are  calling,  'Come'; 
For  this  is  the  message  they  bring,  I  guess, 
'  Get  up,  little  maid ;  it  is  time  to  dress.'  " 

—  Julia  M.  Dana. 


SONGS   OF  SPRING.  39 


IN   APRIL. 

THE  air  is  soft  and  balmy, 
The  grass  is  growing  green, 
The  maple  buds  are  swelling, 

Till  their  slender  threads  are  seen. 
The  brown  brook  chatters  gayly 

Its  rippling  course  along, 
And  hark  !  —  from  distant  tree-top 
I  hear  the  bluebird's  song. 

O  joyous,  gladsome  carol, 

Exultant,  fearless,  true ! 
There  is  hidden  a  heavenly  message 

'Neath  that  coat  of  heavenly  blue. 
My  heart  thrills  as  I  listen ; 

God's  love  is  sure  and  strong. 
Thank  Him  for  life's  awakening! 

Praise  for  the  bluebird's  song  ! 

After  the  winter,  springtime, 

The  sunshine  follows  rain ; 
Tho'  grief  and  sorrow  chill  us, 

The  heart  grows  warm  again. 
From  earth  to  His  glad  heaven 

God  will  His  loved  ones  bring ; 
Still,  after  frosts  and  snowdrifts, 

We  hear  the  bluebirds  sing. 

—  Einily  Gail  Arnold. 


40  NA  TURE   IN  VERSE. 


THE    PUSSY   WILLOW. 


DAINTY  pussy  willows 
On  a  swaying  bough 
Sang  awhile  to  springtime, 

Soft  and  low. 
What  we  heard  them  telling 

In  the  splashing  rain 
We  will  tell  to  you  again. 

"Yes,  we  are  pussies, 

Though  we  never  purr ; 
See,  we  are  dressed 

In  softest  fur. 
Children  reach  to  gather  us 

With  loving  care 
As  we  gently  sway  in  air. 

"  Come  the  gentle  bluebirds 
When  the  warm  winds  blow. 

Do  we  ever  catch  them  ? 
Oh,  no  !  no  ! 

We  are  no  such  pussies  — 
Sad  would  be  the  spring 

Did  the  dear  birds  never  sing. 

"  By  and  by  the  rain  came 

Knocking  at  the  door ; 
Sunbeams  coaxed  us 

Sleep  no  more ! 
Out  we  sprang  delighted  ; 

Now  w£  gayly  sing, 
Through  the  merry  hours  of  spring." 


Selected. 


SONGS   OF  SPUING.  41 


PUSSY   WILLOW. 

THE  brook  is  brimmed  with  melting  snow, 
The  maple  sap  is  running, 
And  on  the  highest  elm  a  crow 

His  coal-black  wings  is  sunning. 
A  close,  green  bud,  the  Mayflower  lies 

Upon  its  mossy  pillow ; 
And  sweet  and  low  the  south  wind  blows, 
And  through  the  brown  fields  calling  goes, 

"  Come,  Pussy  !  Pussy  Willow  ! 
Within  your  close,  brown  wrapper  stir ; 
Come  out  and  show  your  silver  fur ; 

Come,  Pussy  !  Pussy  Willow  !  " 

Soon  red  will  bud  the  maple  trees, 

The  bluebirds  will  be  singing, 
And  yellow  tassels  in  the  breeze 

Be  from  the  poplars  swinging  ; 
And  rosy  will  the  Mayflower  lie 

Upon  its  mossy  pillow  ; 
"  But  you  must  come  the  first  of  all,  — 
Come,  Pussy  !  "  is  the  south  wind's  call,  — 

"  Come,  Pussy  !  Pussy  Willow  ! 

A  fairy  gift  to  children  dear, 

The  downy  firstling  of  the  year,  — 

Come,  Pussy  !   Pussy  Willow  !  " 

—  Selected. 


42  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 


MISS   WILLOW. 

A  LADY  so  fine  came  out  of  the  woods, 
All  dressed  in  silvery  gray, 
Whether  satin  or  velvet,  or  soft  woolen  goods, 
I'm  sure  I'm  not  able  to  say. 

While  great  drifts  were  piled  in  hedgerow  and  plain, 
While  fiercely  the  March  winds  did  blow, 

And  wildly  the  tempest  in  mockery  raged, 
This  lady  stepped  out  in  the  snow. 

I  asked  a  young  ash  which  grew  by  the  wall, 

To  tell  me  the  fine  lady's  name ; 
"Oh  yes,"  he  made  answer,  "no  trouble  at  all; 

She  has  a  most  enviable  fame. 

"  So  modest  is  she,  so  dainty  and  sweet, 

Most  dearly  I  love  her,  'tis  true, 
But  if  no  objection  the  young  lady  brings, 

I'll  make  her  acquainted  with  you. 

"  Miss  Willow,  my  friend,  Mr.  Love-Nature  here, 
Your  friendship  has  gallantly  sought," 

Then,  in  a  low  whisper,  he  laughingly  said, 
"We  call  her  Miss  Pussy  for  short." 

— Susie  E.  Kennedy. 


t 


SONGS   OF  SPRING.  43 


THE   POLLIWOG. 

A  TINY  little  polliwog 
And  little  brothers  three, 
Lived  in  the  water  near  a  log, 
As  happy  as  could  be. 

A-swimming,  swimming  all  the  day, 

A-sleeping  all  the  night, 
And  trying,  though  they  were  so  gay, 

To  do  just  what  was  right. 

A-growing,  growing  all  the  while, 

Because  they  did  their  best ; 
But  I'm  afraid  that  you  will  smile 

When  I  tell  you  the  rest. 

One  morning,  sitting  on  the  log, 

They  looked  in  mute  surprise  ; 
Four  legs  had  every  polliwog, 

Where  two  had  met  their  eyes. 

Their  mother,  letting  fall  a  tear, 

Said,  "  Oh,  my  polliwogs, 
It  can't  be  you  that're  sitting  here  S  " 

For  all  of  them  were  frogs. 

And  with  their  legs  they'd  grown  some  lungs ; 

So  you  just  wait  and  see  ; 

In  summer  time  their  little  tongues 

Will  sing  "  Ka-chink  "  with  glee. 

—  Selected. 


44  NATURE   IN  VERSE. 


JACK   IN   THE   PULPIT. 

JACK  in  the  pulpit 
Preaches  to-day 
Under  the  green  trees 
Just  over  the  way. 
Squirrel  and  song-sparrow 
High  on  their  perch 
Hear  the  sweet  lily-bells 
Ringing  to  church. 
Come,  hear  what  his  reverence 
Rises  to  say, 

In  his  low,  painted  pulpit 
This  calm  Sabbath  day. 
Fair  is  the  canopy 
Over  him  seen, 
Penciled  by  Nature's  hand, 
Black,  brown  and  green. 
Green  is  his  surplice, 
Green  are  his  bands  ; 
In  his  queer  little  pulpit 
The  little  priest  stands. 
In  black  and  gold  velvet, 
So  gorgeous  to  see, 
Comes  with  his  bass  voice 
The  chorister  bee. 
Green  fingers  playing 
Unseen  on  wind-lyres  — 
Low  singing  bird  voices  — 
These  are  his  choirs. 
The  violets  are  deacons  — - 
I  know  by  the  sign 
That  the  cups  which  they  carry 


SONGS   OF  SPRING.  45 

Are  purple  with  wine ; 
And  the  columbines  bravely 
As  sentinels  stand 
On  the  lookout  with  all  their 
Red  trumpets  in  hand. 
Meek-faced  anemones, 
Drooping  and  sad ; 
Great  yellow  violets, 
Smiling  out  glad ; 
Buttercups'  faces, 
Beaming  and  bright ; 
Clovers,  with  bonnets  — 
Some  red  and  some  white ; 
Daisies,  their  white  fingers 
Half  clasped  in  prayer ; 
Dandelions,  proud  of 
The  gold  of  their  hair ; 
Innocents,  —  children, 
Guileless  and  frail, 
Meek  little  faces 
Upturned  and  pale ; 
Wildwood  geraniums, 
All  in  their  best, 
Languidly  leaning, 
In  purple  gauze  dressed ;  — 
All  are  assembled 
This  sweet  Sabbath  day, 
To  hear  what  the  priest 
In  his  pulpit  will  say. 
Look  !  white  Indian  pipes 
On  the  green  mosses  lie ! 
Who  has  been  smoking 
Profanely  so  nigh  ? 
Rebuked  by  the  preacher, 


46  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 


The  mischief  is  stopped  ; 

But  the  sinners,  in  haste, 

Have  their  little  pipes  dropped. 

Let  the  wind,  with  the  fragrance 

Of  fern  and  black  birch, 

Blow  the  smell  of  the  smoking 

Clean  out  of  the  church. 

So  much  for  the  preacher ; 

The  sermon  comes  next. 

Shall  we  tell  how  he  preached  it 

And  what  was  his  text  ? 

Alas  !  like  too  many 

Grown-up  folks  who  play 

At  worship  in  churches 

Man-builded  to-day, 

We  heard  not  the  preacher 

Expound  or  discuss ; 

But  we  looked  at  the  people, 

And  they  looked  at  us. 

We  saw  all  their  dresses, 

Their  colors  and  shapes, 

The  trim  of  their  bonnets, 

The  cut  of  their  capes. 

We  heard  the  wind-organ, 

The  bee  and  the  bird, 

But  of  Jack  in  the  Pulpit 

We  heard  not  a  word. 

—  Whittier" s  Child  Life. 


SONGS   OF  SPRING.  47 


SUPPOSE. 

SUPPOSE  the  little  cowslip 
Should  hang  its  golden  cup, 
And  say,  "  I'm  such  a  tiny  flower, 
I'd  better  not  grow  up  "  ; 
How  many  a  weary  traveler 
Would  miss  its  fragrant  smell ; 
And  many  a  little  child  would  grieve 
To  lose  it  from  the  dell. 

Suppose  the  little  breezes, 

Upon  a  summer's  day, 

Should  think  themselves  too  small 

To  cool  the  traveler  on  his  way ; 

Who  would  not  miss  the  smallest 

And  softest  ones  that  blow, 

And  think  they  made  a  great  mistake, 

If  they  were  talking  so  ? 

Suppose  the  little  dewdrop 
Upon  the  grass  should  say, 
"  What  can  a  little  dewdrop  do  ? 
I'd  better  roll  away." 
The  blade  on  which  it  rested, 
Before  the  day  was  done, 
Without  a  drop  to  moisten  it, 
Would  wither  in  the  sun. 

How  many  deeds  of  kindness 
A  little  child  can  do, 
Although  it  has  but  little  strength 
And  little  wisdom,  too  ! 


48  NATURE   IN  VERSE. 


It  wants  a  loving  spirit, 
Much  more  than  strength,  to  prove 
How  many  things  a  child  may  do 
For  others  by  its  love. 


— Selected. 


3X*C 


THE   ARBUTUS. 

IT  trailed  on  a  sheltered  hillside 
Where  in  summer  grew  woodland  fern, 
And  the  sunbeam's  warm  kisses  fell  on  it, 
Close  nestled  in  coppice  and  heme ! 
The  faded  leaves  covered  it  softly, 
But  when  March  passed  over  its  bed, 
It  wakened  affrighted  to  listen 
And  raised  up  its  fair  little  head. 
And  when  our  dear  April  so  gentle, 
With  its  warm  tears  the  little  face  kissed, 
It  spread  out  its  green  leaves  above  it, 
And  blushed  very  sweetly,  I  wist. 
And  when  I  had  gone  to  the  hillside 
To  welcome  the  springtime  so  new, 
I  was  led  by  the  delicate  fragrance 
To  the  place  where  the  arbutus  grew. 
O  timid  and  sweet  little  blossom ! 
A  lesson  thou  bringest  to  me  — 
Though  thy  life  it  is  fair  in  beholding, 
It  is  hidden  in  humility. 


— Selected. 


SONGS   OF  SPRING.  49 


WISHING. 

RING-TING !   I  wish  I  were  a  primrose, 
A  bright  yellow  primrose  blooming  in  the  spring ! 
The  stooping  boughs  above  me, 
The  wandering  bee  to  love  me, 
The  fern  and  moss  to  creep  across, 
And  the  elm-tree  for  our  king ! 

Nay  —  stay  !     I  wish  I  were  an  elm-tree, 

A  great,  lofty  elm-tree  with  green  leaves  gay ! 

The  winds  would  set  them  dancing, 

The  sun  and  moonshine  glance  in, 
The  birds  would  house  among  the  boughs, 
And  ever  sweetly  sing ! 

O  —  no !     I  wish  I  were  a  robin, 

A  robin  or  a  little  wren,  everywhere  to  go ; 

Through  forest,  field,  or  garden, 

And  ask  no  leave  or  pardon, 
Till  winter  comes  with  icy  thumbs 
To  ruffle  up  our  wings ! 

Well  —  tell !     Where  should  I  fly  to, 
Where  go  to  sleep  in  the  dark  wood  or  dell  ? 

Before  a  day  was  over,  • 

Home  comes  the  rover, 

For  mother's  kiss,  —  sweeter  this 

Than  any  other  thing. 

—  W.  Allingham. 


50  NATURE   INVERSE. 


APRIL    FOOLS. 


SHY  little  pansies 
Tucked  away  to  sleep, 
Wrapped  in  brown  blankets 
Piled  snug  and  deep, 
Heard  in  a  day-dream 
A  bird  singing  clear : 
"  Wake,  little  sweethearts  ; 
The  springtime  is  here  !  " 

Glad  little  pansies, 

Stirring  from  their  sleep, 

Shook  their  brown  blankets 

Off  for  a  peep, 

Put  on  their  velvet  hoods, 

Purple  and  gold, 

And  stood  all  a-tremble 

Abroad  in  the  cold. 

Snowflakes  were  flying, 
Skies  were  grim  and  gray, 
Bluebird  and  robin 
Had  scurried  away ; 
Only  the  cruel  wind 
Laughed  as  it  said, 
"  Poor  little  April  fools, 
Hurry  back  to  bed  !  " 

Soft  chins  a-quiver, 
Dark  eyes  full  of  tears, 
Brave  little  pansies, 
Spite  of  their  fears, 


SONGS   OF  SPRING.  51 

Said,  "  Let  us  wait  for 
The  sunshiny  weather ; 
Take  hold  of  hands,  dears, 
And  cuddle  up  together." 

—  Emily  H.  Miller, 


THE   MAYFLOWERS. 

SAD  Mayflower  !  watched  by  winter  stars, 
And  nursed  by  winter  gales, 
With  petals  of  the  sleeted  spars, 
And  leaves  of  frozen  sails ! 

What  had  she  in  those  dreary  hours, 

Within  her  ice-rimmed  bay, 
In  common  with  the  wildwood  flowers, 

The  first  sweet  smiles  of  May  ? 

Yet,  "  God  be  praised  !  "  the  Pilgrims  said, 

Who  saw  the  blossoms  peer 
Above  the  brown  leaves,  dry  and  dead ; 

"  Behold  our  Mayflower  here ! 

"  God  wills  it :  here  our  rest  shall  be, 

Our  years  of  wandering  o'er, 
For  us  the  Mayflower  of  the  sea 

Shall  spread  her  sails  no  more." 

O  sacred  flowers  of  faith  and  hope ! 

As  sweetly  now  as  then 
Ye  bloom  on  many  a  birchen  slope, 

In  many  a  pine-dark  glen. 


52  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

Behind  the  sea-wall's  rugged  length, 

Unchanged,  your  leaves  unfold, 
Like  love  behind  the  manly  strength 

Of  the  brave  hearts  of  old. 

So  live  the  fathers  in  their  sons : 

Their  sturdy  faith  be  ours 
And  ours  the  love  that  overruns 

Its  rocky  strength  with  flowers. 

The  Pilgrim's  wild  and  wintry  day 

Its  shadow  round  us  draws ; 
The  Mayflower  of  his  stormy  bay, 

Our  freedom's  struggling  cause. 

But  warmer  suns  erelong  shall  bring 

To  life  the  frozen  sod; 

And,  through  dead  leaves  of  hope,  shall  spring 

Afresh  the  flowers  of  God ! 

—  J.  G.  Whittier. 


:>*>« 


THE   FLOWER   BED. 

BABY,  what  do  the  blossoms  say, 
Down  in  the  garden  walk  ? 
They  nod  and  bend  in  the  twilight  gray ; 

Say  !  can  you  hear  them  talk  ? 
They  say,  "  Oh,  darling  baby  bright, 
We're  going  to  sleep  !  good  night,  good  night ! 
The  gentle  breezes  have  come  to  sing 
How  God  takes  care  of  everything." 


SONGS    OF  SPRING.  53 

Baby,  what  does  the  robin  say, 

Do  you  hear  his  evening  song  ? 
He  sits  and  sings  his  twilight  lay, 

With  a  heart  all  merry  and  strong. 
He  sings,  "  Good  night,  my  baby  dear; 
Sleep  well,  sleep  soft,  and  do  not  fear ; 
For  somehow  I  know  as  I  sit  and  sing, 
That  God  takes  care  of  everything." 

—  Selected. 


3>*C 


MAY. 

STARTING,  starting  from  the  earth. 
See  the  pretty  flowers  ! 
Wakened  from  their  winter's  sleep 
By  the  springtime  showers. 

Now  we  know  that  May  hath  come, 
O'er  the  meadows  dancing; 

Robin  lilts  his  sweetest  song, 
Sunbeams  round  him  glancing. 

Bluebird  's  knocking  at  the  door, 

Swallow  's  hither  coming ; 
And,  o'er  all  the  sunny  mead, 

Springtime  bees  are  humming. 

Golden  sunshine,  silver  rain, 

Each  its  work  is  doing. 
Birds  and  bees  and  blossoms  fair, 

Now  the  world  renewing. 


54  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

O  thou  merry  month  o'  May ! 

We  have  come  to  meet  you ; 
Little  lads  and  lassies  gay, 

Happily  we  greet  you. 

From  your  pretty  flowers,  dear, 

We  will  take  a  warning  ; 

And  we'll  try  our  work  to  do 

In  life's  fair  May  morning. 

—  Helen  D.  Curtis. 

APPLE    BLOSSOMS, 

THE  orchard  trees  are  white, 
For  the  bright  May  sun  is  shining, 
And  the  blossoms  show 
Like  a  drift  of  snow, 
From  a  cloud  with  a  rosy  lining. 

And  two  little  bright  blue  eyes, 
With  a  sweet  surprise  are  glowing ; 

"  Oh  !  mamma,  I  see 

A  popcorn  tree 
And  the  corn-ball  just  a-growing." 


—  Selected. 


3^C 


MAY. 

WHY  are  bees  and  butterflies 
Dancing  in  the  sun  ? 
Violets  and  buttercups 
Blooming,  every  one  ? 


SONGS   OF  SPRING.  55 

Why  does  Mr.  Bobolink 

Seem  so  shocking  gay  ? 
Why  does  —  ah  !  I'd  half  forgot ! 

This  is  really  May. 

Why  are  all  the  water-bugs 

Donning  roller-skates  ? 
And  the  solemn  lady-bugs 

Dozing  on  the  gates  ? 

Why  do  all  the  meadow  brooks 

Try  to  run  away, 
As  though  some  one  were  chasing  them  ? 

Bless  me !  this  is  May. 

Please  to  tell  me  why  the  trees 

Have  put  new  bonnets  on  ? 
Please  to  tell  me  why  the  crows 

Their  picnics  have  begun  ? 

Why  does  all  the  whole  big  world 

Smell  like  a  fresh  bouquet 

Picked  from  one  of  God's  flower  beds  ? 

Oh,  I  know !  it's  May. 

— R.  M.  Alden  —  The  Pansy. 


o^K< 


THE   VIOLET. 

I  LOVE  all  things  the  seasons  bring, 
All  buds  that  start,  all  birds  that  sing, 
All  leaves  from  white  to  jet, 
All  the  sweet  words  that  summer  sends, 
When  she  recalls  her  flowery  friends, 
But  chief  —  the  Violet ! 


56  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

I  love,  how  much  I  love  the  rose, 

On  whose  soft  lips  the  south  wind  blows, 

In  pretty  amorous  threat ; 
The  lily  paler  than  the  moon, 
The  odorous,  wondrous  world  of  June, 

Yet  more  —  the  Violet ! 

She  comes,  the  first,  the  fairest  thing 
That  Heaven  upon  the  earth  doth  fling, 

Ere  Winter's  star  is  set : 
She  dwells  behind  her  leafy  screen, 
And  gives,  as  angels  give,  unseen, 

So,  love  —  the  Violet ! 

What  modest  thoughts  the  Violet  teaches, 

What  gracious  boons  the  Violet  preaches, 

Bright  maiden,  ne'er  forget ! 

But  learn,  and  love,  and  so  depart, 

And  sing  thou  with  thy  wiser  heart, 

"  Long  live  the  Violet !  " 

—  Barry  Cornwall. 


>>K< 


FLOWER    DANCES. 

IN  May  the  valley  lilies  ring, 
Their  bells  chime  clear  and  sweet ; 
They  cry,  "Come  forth,  ye  flowerets  all, 
And  dance  with  twinkling  feet." 

The  blossoms,  gold  and  blue  and  white, 

Come  quickly,  one  and  all ; 
The  speedwell,  the  forget-me-not, 

The  violets  hear  the  call. 


SONGS   OF  SPRING.  57 

Then  in  a  trice  the  lilies  play, 

While  all  to  dance  begin  : 
The  moon  looks  on  with  friendly  smile, 

And  takes  great  joy  therein. 

Then  sadly  vexed  is  Master  Frost, 

Down  to  the  vale  comes  he ; 
Lilies  play  dancing  tunes  no  more, 

The  pretty  blossoms  flee. 

Yet  Frost  has  scarcely  left  the  vale, 

When  lilies  far  and  near 
Call  quickly  to  the  Springtide  feast ; 

Their  bells  ring  doubly  clear. 

I'll  stay  no  longer  in  the  house  ; 

The  lilies  call  me,  too ; 
Sweet  flowerets,  dancing  out-of-doors, 

I  come  to  dance  with  you. 

—  From  the  German  by  Mrs.  Anderson. 


^^Kc 


THE   VIOLET. 

DOWN  in  a  green  and  shady  bed 
A  modest  violet  grew  ; 
Its  stalk  was  bent,  it  hung  its  head, 
As  if  to  hide  from  view. 

And  yet  it  was  a  lovely  flower, 

Its  color  bright  and  fair ; 
It  might  have  graced  a  rosy  bower 

Instead  of  hiding  there. 


58  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

Yet  there  it  was  content  to  bloom, 

In  modest  tints  arrayed ; 
And  there  diffused  its  sweet  perfume 

Within  the  silent  shade. 

Then  let  me  to  the  valley  go, 

This  pretty  flower  to  see, 

That  I  may  also  learn  to  grow 

In  sweet  humility. 

—  Jane  Taylor. 


>&<< 


OUR   GARDEN. 

THE  winter  is  gone,  and  at  first  Jack  and  I  were  sad, 
Because  of  the  snow-man's  melting,  but  now  we  are 
glad; 
For  the  spring  has  come,  and  it's  warm,  and  we're  allowed 

to  garden  in  the  afternoon ; 
And  summer  is  coming,  and  oh,  how  lovely  our  flowers 
will  be  in  June  ! 

We  are  so  fond  of  flowers,  it  makes   us  quite  happy   to 

think 
Of   our   beds  —  all   colors  —  blue,  white,   yellow,   purple, 

and  pink, 
Scarlet,  lilac,  and  crimson !      And  we're    fond  of    sweet 

scents  as  well, 
And   mean  to  have  pinks,  roses,  sweet  peas,  mignonette, 

clove  carnations,  and  everything  good  to  smell. 


SONGS   OF  SPRING.  59 

On  Monday  we  went  to  the  wood  and  got  primrose  plants 

and  a  sucker  of  dog-rose ; 
It  looks  like  a  green   stick  in  the  midst  of  the  bed  at 

present,  but  wait  till  it  blows  ! 
The  primroses  were  in  full  flower,  and  the  rose  ought  to 

flower  soon ; 
You've  no  idea  how  lovely  it  is  in  that  wood  in  June ! 

The  primroses   look  quite  withered  now   I   am  sorry  to 

say; 
But  that's  not  our  fault,  but  nurse's,  and  it  shows  how  hard 

it  is  to  garden  when  you  can't  have  your  own  way. 
We  planted  them  carefully  and  were  just  going  to  water 

them  all  in  a  lump, 
When  nurse  fetched  us  both  indoors,  and  put  us  to  bed 

for  wetting  our  pinafores  at  the  pump. 

We're  going  to  take  everything  up,  —  for  it  can't  hurt  the 

plants  to  stand  on  the  grass  for  a  minute. 
And  you  really  can't  make  a  bed  smooth  with  so  many 

things  in  it. 
We  shall  dig  it  all  over,  and  get  leaf-mold  from  the  wood, 

and  hoe  up  the  weeds ; 
And  when  it's  tidy,  we  shall  plant  and  put  labels  and  strike 

cuttings  and  sow  seeds. 

We  are  so  fond  of  flowers !     Jack  and  I  often  dream  at 

night 
Of  getting  up  and  finding  our  garden  ablaze  with  all  colors, 

—  blue,  red,  yellow,  and  white  ; 
And  midsummer's  coming,  and  our  big  brother  Tom  will 

sit  under  the  tree 
With  his  book,  and  Mary  will  beg  sweet  nosegays  of  me. 


60  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

It's  so  tiresome !     Jack  wants  to  build  a  greenhouse  now. 

He  has  found  some  bits  of  broken  glass  and  an  old  window 

frame,  and  he  says  he  knows  how. 

I  tell  him  there's  not  glass  enough,  but  he  says  there's  lots. 

And  he's  taken  all  the  plants  that  belong  to  the  bed  and 

put  them  into  pots. 

—  Juliana  Horatia  Riving. 


^c 


SEVEN   TIMES    FOUR. 

HEIGH  HO  !   daisies  and  buttercups, 
Fair  yellow  daffodils,  stately  and  tall ! 
When  the  wind  wakes  how  they  rock  in  the  grasses, 

And  dance  with  the  cuckoo-buds  slender  and  small ! 
Here's  two  bonny  boys,  and  here's  mother's  own  lasses, 
Eager  to  gather  them  all. 

Heigh  ho  !  daisies  and  buttercups  ! 

Mother  shall  thread  them  a  daisy  chain ; 
Sing  them  a  song  of  the  pretty  hedge-sparrow, 

That  loved  her  brown  little  ones,  loved  them  full  fain ; 
Sing,  "  Heart,  thou    art  wide  though   the    house  be  but 
narrow  "  — 

Sing  once,  and  sing  it  again. 

Heigh  ho  !  daisies  and  buttercups, 

Sweet  wagging  cowslips,  they  bend  and  they  bow ; 
A  ship  sails  afar  over  warm  ocean  waters, 

And  haply  one  musing  doth  stand  at  her  prow. 
O  bonny  brown  sons,  and  O  sweet  little  daughters, 
Maybe  he  thinks  on  you  now  ! 


SONGS   OF  SPRING.  61 

Heigh  ho  !  daisies  and  buttercups, 

Fair  yellow  daffodils,  stately  and  tall  — 
A  sunshiny  world  full  of  laughter  and  leisure, 

And  fresh  hearts  unconscious  of  sorrow  and  thrall ! 
Send  down  on  their  pleasure  smiles  passing  its  measure, 
God  that  is  over  us  all ! 

—  Jean  Ingelow. 


3^^C 


FIELD    FLOWERS. 

FIELD  flowers,  sweet  field  flowers, 
Fairies  of  the  spring, 
Only  those  who  love  them 

Know  the  joy  they  bring. 
Love  can  but  discover 

With  their  beauty,  worth, 
Jeweling  all  over 

All  the  bright  green  earth. 
Field  flowers,  sweet  field  flowers, 

Fairies  of  the  spring, 
Only  those  who  love  them, 

Know  the  joy  they  bring. 

Field  flowers,  sweet  field  flowers, 

Everywhere  they  come, 
Whereso'er,  unseeking, 

You  may  chance  to  roam. 
With  their  smiles  to  meet  us 

On  each  path  of  ours, 


62  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

All  unsought  to  greet  us, 
Come  the  sweet  field  flowers. 
Field  flowers,  sweet  field  flowers, 
Fairies  of  the  spring, 
Only  those  who  love  them, 
Know  the  joy  they  bring. 


>**< 


—  Selected. 


ALMOST   TIME. 

ALMOST  time  for  the  pretty  white  daisies 
Out  of  their  sleep  to  awaken  at  last, 
And  over  the  meadows,  with  grasses  and  clover, 

To  bud  and  to  blossom,  and  grow  so  fast; 
Almost  time  for  the  buttercups  yellow, 

The  ferns  and  the  flowers,  the  roses  and  all, 
To  waken  from  slumber,  and  merrily  listen 
To  gladden  our  hearts  at  the  spring's  first  call. 

Almost  time  for  the  skies  to  grow  bluer, 

And  breezes  to  soften,  and  days  to  grow  long ; 

For  eyes  to  grow  brighter,  and  heai  ts  to  grow  gladder 
And  earth  to  rejoice  in  her  jubilant  song; 

Almost  time  for  the  sweetest  of  seasons  ; 
Nearer  it  comes  with  each  new-born  day, 

And  soon  the  smile  of  the  beautiful  springtime 

Winter's  cold  shadow  will  chase  away. 

—  Selected. 


SONGS   OF  SPRING.  63 


THE    DAISY. 

THE  daisy  is  the  meekest  flower 
That  grows  in  wood  or  field ; 
To  wind  and  rain,  and  footsteps  rude, 
Its  slender  stem  will  yield. 

In  spring  it  dots  the  green  with  white, 

And  blossoms  all  the  year, 
And  so  it  is  a  favorite  flower, 

With  all  the  children  dear. 

Before  the  stars  are  in  the  sky, 

The  daisy  goes  to  rest, 
And  folds  its  little  shining  leaves 

Upon  its  golden  breast. 

So  children  when  they  go  to  bed 
Should  fold  their  hands  in  prayer. 

And  place  themselves  and  all  they  love, 
In  God's  protecting  care. 

—  Selected. 


w 


64  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 


WAKE    UP,    LITTLE    DAISY. 

WAKE  up,  little  Daisy,  the  summer  is  nigh, 
The  dear  little  robin  is  up  in  the  sky ; 
The  snow-drop  and  crocus  are  never  so  slow, 
Then,  wake  up,  little  Daisy,  and  hasten  to  grow. 
Wake  up,  wake  up,  wake  up,  little  Daisy, 
And  hasten  to  grow. 

I  tease  pleasant  sunshine  to  rest  on  your  head, 
The  dew  and  the  rain-drops  to  moisten  your  bed, 
And  then  every  morning  I  just  take  a  peep, 
To  see  your  little  face,  but  you're  still  fast  asleep. 
Wake  up,  wake  up,  wake  up,  little  Daisy, 
And  hasten  to  grow. 

Mother  often  tells  me,  if  I  would  be  wise, 
And  honored,  and  happy,  I  early  must  rise ; 
So  I'm  up  in  the  morning,  and  out  in  the  dew, 
With  all  the  little  birds,  and  the  honey-bees  too. 
Wake  up,  wake  up,  wake  up,  little  Daisy, 
And  hasten  to  grow. 

Listen,  little  Daisy,  I'll  tell  you  what's  said, 

The  lark  thinks  you're  lazy,  and  love  your  warm  bed, 

But  I'll  not  believe  it,  for  now  I  can  see 

Your  bright  little  eyes  softly  winking  at  me. 

Wake  up,  wake  up,  wake  up,  little  Daisy, 

And  hasten  to  grow. 

—  Selected. 


SONGS   OF  SPRING.  65 


THE   DAISY. 

THERE  is  a  flower,  a  little  flower, 
With  silver  crest  and  golden  eye, 
That  welcomes  every  changing  hour, 
And  weathers  every  sky. 

It  smiles  upon  the  lap  of  May, 

To  sultry  August  spreads  its  charm, 

Lights  pale  October  on  his  way, 
And  twines  December's  arm. 

'Tis  Flora's  page,  in  every  place, 

In  every  season,  fresh  and  fair ; 
It  opens  with  perennial  grace, 

And  blossoms  everywhere. 

On  waste  and  woodland,  rock  and  plain, 

Its  humble  buds  unheeded  rise ; 
The  Rose  has  but  a  summer  reign : 

The  Daisy  never  dies. 

— James  Montgomery. 


66  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 


DANDELION. 


HE  is  a  roguish  little  elf, 
A  gay  audacious  fellow, 
Who  tramps  about  in  doublet  green 

And  skirt  of  brightest  yellow ; 
In  ev'ry  field,  by  ev'ry  road, 

He  peeps  among  the  grasses, 
And  shows  his  sunny  little  face 
To  ev'ry  one  that  passes. 

Within  the  churchyard  he  is  seen, 

Beside  the  headstones  peeping, 
And  shining  like  a  golden  star 

O'er  some  still  form  there  sleeping ; 
Beside  the  house  door  oft  he  springs 

In  all  his  wanton  straying, 
And  children  shout  in  laughing  glee 

To  find  him  in  their  playing. 

At  eve  he  dons  his  nightgown  green, 

And  goes  to  bed  right  early, 
At  morn,  he  spreads  his  yellow  skirts 

To  catch  the  dewdrops  pearly ; 
A  darling  elf  is  Dandelion, 

A  roguish  wanton  sweeting ; 
Yet  he  is  loved  by  ev'ry  child, 

All  give  him  joyous  greeting. 

—  Kate  L.  Brown. 


** 


SONGS   OF  SPRING.  67 


DANDELION. 


THERE'S  a  dandy  little  fellow, 
Who  dresses  all  in  yellow, 
In  yellow  with  an  overcoat  of  green ; 
With  his  hair  all  crisp  and  curly, 
In  the  springtime  bright  and  early 
A-tripping  o'er  the  meadow  he  is  seen. 
Through  all  the  bright  June  weather, 
Like  a  jolly  little  tramp, 
He  wanders  o'er  the  hillside,  down  the  road ; 
Around  his  yellow  feather, 
The  gypsy  fireflies  camp ; 
His  companions  are  the  wood  lark  and  the  toad. 

But  at  last  this  little  fellow 

Doffs  his  dainty  coat  of  yellow, 

And  very  feebly  totters  o'er  the  green ; 

For  he  very  old  is  growing 

And  with  hair  all  white  and  flowing, 

A-nodding  in  the  sunlight  he  is  seen. 

Oh,  poor  dandy,  once  so  spandy, 

Golden  dancer  on  the  lea ! 

Older  growing,  white  hair  flowing, 

Poor  little  baldhead  dandy  now  is  he ! 

—  Nellie  M.  Garabrant. 


68  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 


SEVEN   TIMES    ONE. 

THERE'S  no  dew  left  on  the  daisies  and  clover, 
There's  no  rain  left  in  heaven; 
I've  said  my  "  seven  times  "  over  and  over, 
Seven  times  one  are  seven. 


I  am  old,  so  old,  I  can  write  a  letter ; 

My  birthday  lessons  are  done  ; 
The  lambs  play  always,  they  know  no  better ; 

They  are  only  one  times  one. 

0  moon !  in  the  night  I  have  seen  you  sailing 
And  shining  so  round  and  low ; 

You  were  bright !  ah  bright !  but  your  light  is  failing - 
You  are  nothing  now  but  a  bow. 

You  moon,  have  you  done  something  wrong  in  heaven 
That  God  has  hidden  your  face  ? 

1  hope  if  you  have  you  will  soon  be  forgiven, 
And  shine  again  in  your  place. 

O  velvet  bee,  you're  a  dusty  fellow, 

You've  powdered  your  legs  with  gold ! 
O  brave  marsh  marybuds,  rich  and  yellow, 

Give  me  your  money  to  hold ! 

O  columbine,  open  your  folded  wrapper 

Where  two  twin  turtle-doves  dwell ! 
O  cuckoopint,  toll  me  the  purple  clapper 

That  hangs  in  your  clear  green  bell ! 


SONGS   OF  SPRING.  69 

And  show  me  your  nest  with  the  young  ones  in  it ; 

I  will  not  steal  them  away ; 
I  am  old !  you  may  trust  me,  linnet,  linnet  — 

I  am  seven  times  one  to-day. 

— yean  Inge  low. 


THE   LILAC. 

THE  sun  shone  warm,  and  the  lilac  said, 
"  I  must  hurry  and  get  my  table  spread, 
For  if  I  am  slow,  and  dinner  late, 
My  friends,  the  bees,  will  have  to  wait." 

So  delicate  lavender  glass  she  brought 
And  the  daintiest  china  ever  bought, 
Purple  tinted,  and  all  complete ; 
And  she  filled  each  cup  with  honey  sweet. 

"  Dinner  is  ready  !  "  the  spring  wind  cried  ; 
And  from  hive  and  hiding  far  and  wide, 
While  the  lilac  laughed  to  see  them  come, 
The  little  gray-jacketed  bees  came  hum-m ! 

They  sipped  the  sirup  from  every  cell, 

They  nibbled  at  taffy  and  caramel ; 

Then,  without  being  asked,  they  all  buzzed,  "  We 

Will  be  very  happy  to  stay  to  tea." 

—  Clara  Doty  Bates. 


# 


70  NATURE  IN   VERSE. 


THE   CHICKEN'S    MISTAKE. 

A    LITTLE  downy  chicken  one  day 
Asked  leave  to  go  on  the  water, 
Where  she  saw  a  duck  with  her  brood  at  play, 
Swimming  and  splashing  about  her. 

Indeed,  she  began  to  peep  and  cry, 

When  her  mother  wouldn't  let  her : 
"  If  ducks  can  swim  there,  why  can't  I  ; 

Are  they  any  bigger  or  better  ?  " 

Then  the  old  hen  answered,  "  Listen  to  me, 

And  hush  your  foolish  talking ; 
Just  look  at  your  feet  and  you  will  see 

They  were  only  made  for  walking." 

But  chicky  wistfully  eyed  the  brook, 

And  didn't  half  believe  her, 
For  she  seemed  to  say  by  a  knowing  look, 

"  Such  stories  couldn't  deceive  her." 

And  as  her  mother  was  scratching  the  ground, 

She  muttered  lower  and  lower, 
"  I  know  I  can  go  there  and  not  get  drowned, 

And  so  I  think  I'll  show  her." 

Then  she  made  a  plunge  where  the  stream  was  deep, 

And  saw  too  late  her  blunder : 
For  she  hadn't  hardly  time  to  peep 

Till  her  foolish  head  went  under. 

And  now  I  hope  her  fate  will  show 

The  child,  my  story  reading, 
That  those  who  are  older  sometimes  know 

What  you  will  do  well  in  heeding. 


SONGS   OF  SPRING.  71 

That  each  content  in  his  place  should  dwell, 

And  envy  not  his  brother ; 
And  any  part  that  is  acted  well 

Is  just  as  good  as  another. 

For  we  all  have  our  proper  sphere  below, 

And  this  is  a  truth  worth  knowing : 
You  will  come  to  grief  if  you  try  to  go 

Where  you  never  were  made  for  going. 

—  Phcebe  Cary. 


ROVER    IN    CHURCH. 

TWAS  a  Sunday  morning  in  early  May, 
A  beautiful,  sunny,  quiet  day, 
And  all  the  village,  old  and  young, 
Had  trooped  to  church  when  the  church  bells  rung ; 
The  windows  were  open  and  breezes  sweet 
Fluttered  the  hymn  books  from  seat  to  seat ; 
Even  the  birds  in  the  pale-leaved  birch 
Sang  as  softly  as  if  in  church. 

Right  in  the  midst  of  the  minister's  prayer 
There  came  a  knock  at  the  outer  door. 
"  Who's  there,  I  wonder !  "  the  sexton  thought 
As  his  careful  ear  the  tapping  caught. 
Rap  —  rap,  rap  —  rap,  —  a  louder  sound  — 
The  boy  on  the  back  seat  turned  around. 
What  could  it  mean  ?  for  never  before 
Had  any  tapped  at  the  old  church  door. 

Again  the  tapping,  and  now  'tis  loud ; 

The  minister  paused  —  tho'  his  head  was  bowed. 


72  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

Rap-pi-ty-rap  !     This  will  never  do, 
The  girls  are  peeping  and  laughing  too, 
So  the  sexton  tripped  over  the  creaking  floor, 
Lifted  the  latch  and  opened  the  door ; 
*    In  there  trotted,  as  big  as  a  bear, 
A  great  black  dog ;  with  a  solemn  air, 

Right  up  the  center  aisle  he  pattered  — 
People  might  laugh,  it  little  mattered. 
Straight  he  went  to  a  little  maid, 
Who  blushed  and  hid  as  though  afraid, 
And  there  sat  down  as  if  to  say,  — 
"  I'm  sorry  I  was  late  to-day. 
But  better  late  than  never,  you  know ; 
Beside  I  waited  an  hour  or  so, 

"  And  couldn't  get  them  to  open  the  door, 
Tho'  I  banged  my  tail,  and  knocked  the  floor. 
Now,  little  mistress,  I'm  going  to  stay 
And  hear  what  the  minister  has  to  say." 
The  poor  little  girl  hid  her  face  and  cried, 
But  the  big  dog  nestled  close  to  her  side 
And  kissed  her,  dog  fashion,  tenderly, 
Wondering  what  the  matter  could  be ! 

The  dog  being  large,  and  the  sexton  small, 

He  sat  through  the  sermon  and  heard  it  all, 

As  solemn  and  wise  as  any  one  there, 

With  a  very  dignified  scholarly  air, 

And,  instead  of  scolding,  the  minister  said, 

As  he  laid  his  hand  on  the  sweet  child's  head 

After  the  service,  "  I  never  knew 

Two  better  listeners  than  Rover  and  you." 


—  Selected. 


SONGS   OF  SPRING.  73 


PLANTED  HIMSELF  TO  GROW. 

DEAR,  little,  bright-eyed  Willie, 
Always  so  full  of  glee, 
Always  so  very  mischievous, 
The  pride  of  our  home  is  he. 

One  bright  summer  day  we  found  him 

Close  by  the  garden  wall, 
Standing  so  grave  and  dignified 

Beside  a  sunflower  tall. 

His  tiny  feet  he  had  covered 

With  the  moist  and  cooling  sand  ; 

The  stalk  of  the  great,  tall  sunflower 
He  grasped  with  his  chubby  hand. 

When  he  saw  us  standing  near  him, 

Gazing  so  wonderingly 
At  his  babyship,  he  greeted  us 

With  a  merry  shout  of  glee. 

We  asked  our  darling  what  pleased  him ; 

He  replied  with  a  face  aglow, 
"  Mamma,  I'm  going  to  be  a  man  ; 

I've  planted  myself  to  grow." 


■ —  Selected. 


:£4Kc 


BIRD   TRADES. 

THE  swallow  is  a  mason, 
And  underneath  the  eaves 
He  builds  a  nest,  and  plasters  it 
With  mud  and  hay  and  leaves. 


74  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

Of  all  the  weavers  that  I  know, 
The  oriole  is  the  best ; 

High  on  the  branches  of  the  tree 
She  hangs  her  cosy  nest. 

The  woodpecker  is  hard  at  work  — 

A  carpenter  is  he  — 
And  you  may  hear  him  hammering 

His  nest  high  up  a  tree. 

Some  little  birds  are  miners  : 
Some  build  upon  the  ground : 

And  busy  little  tailors,  too, 
Among  the  birds  are  found. 


—  Selected. 


>X*c 


THE    LITTLE    DOVES. 

HIGH  on  the  top  of  an  old  pine-tree 
Broods  a  mother-dove  with  her  young  ones  three. 
Warm  over  them  is  her  soft,  downy  breast, 
And  they  sing  so  sweetly  in  their  nest. 
"  Coo,"  say  the  little  ones,  "  Coo,"  says  she, 
All  in  their  nest  on  the  old  pine-tree. 

Soundly  they  sleep  through  the  moonshiny  night, 
Each  young  one  covered  and  tucked  in  tight ; 
Morn  wakes  them  up  with  the  first  blush  of  light, 
And  they  sing  to  each  other  with  all  their  might. 
"Coo,"  say  the  little  ones,  "Coo,"  says  she, 
All  in  their  nest  on  the  old  pine-tree. 

When  in  the  nest  they  are  all  left  alone, 

While  their  mother  far  for  their  dinner  has  flown, 


SONGS   OF  SPRING.  75 

Quiet  and  gentle  they  all  remain, 
Till  their  mother  they  see  come  home  again. 
Then  "Coo,"  say  the  little  ones,  "Coo,"  says  she, 
All  in  their  nest  on  the  old  pine-tree. 

When  they  are  fed  by  their  tender  mother, 

One  never  pushes  nor  crowds  another ; 

Each  opens  wide  his  own  little  bill, 

And  he  patiently  waits,  and  gets  his  fill. 

Then  "  Coo,"  say  the  little  ones,  "  Coo,"  says  she, 

All  in  their  nest  on  the  old  pine-tree. 

Wisely  the  mother  begins  by  and  by, 

To  make  her  young  ones  learn  to  fly ; 

Just  for  a  little  way  over  the  brink, 

Then  back  to  the  nest  as  quick  as  a  wink. 

And  "  Coo,"  say  the  little  ones,  "  Coo,"  says  she, 

All  in  their  nest  on  the  old  pine-tree. 

Fast  grow  the  young  ones,  day  and  night, 
Till  their  wings  are  plumed  for  a  longer  flight ; 
Till  unto  them  at  last  draws  nigh 
The  time  when  they  all  must  say  "  Good-by." 
Then  "  Coo,"  say  the  little  ones,  "  Coo,"  says  she, 

And  away  they  fly  from  the  old  pine-tree. 

—  Selected. 


CHANGELINGS. 

ALONG  the  orchard's  fragrant  way 
I  walked  in  flower-embroidered  May ; 
The  apple-trees  were  all  alight 
With  opening  buds  of  rose  and  white. 


76  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

On  the  same  path  I  pass  again ; 

The  faded  grass  is  wet  with  rain ; 

The  sweet  young  year  is  growing  old ; 

My  flowers  are  changed  to  globes  of  gold. 
p. 

Within  the  polished  spheres  there  be 
Rare  honey  and  rich  spicerie ; 
From  sun  and  wind  and  blossom  bell 
The  patient  days  have  wrought  the  spell. 

—  M.  F.  B.  —  Youth's  Competition. 


otti 


RAGGED    ROBIN. 

A  MAN  of  taste  is  Robinet, 
A  dandy,  spruce  and  trim  ! 
Whoe'er  would  dainty  fashions  set, 
Should  go  and  look  at  him. 

Rob  scorns  to  wear  his  crimson  coat, 

As  common  people  do, 
He  folds  and  fits  it  in  and  out, 

And  does  it  bravely,  too. 

Oh  !  Robin  loves  to  prank  him  rare, 
With  fringe,  and  flounce,  and  all ; 

Till  you'd  take  him  for  a  lady  fair 
Just  going  to  a  ball. 

Robin's  a  roguish,  merry  lad, 

He  dances  in  the  breeze, 
And  looks  up,  with  a  greeting  glad, 

To  the  rustling  hedge-row  trees. 


SONGS   OF  SPRING.  77 

How  civilly  he  beckons  in 

The  busy  Mrs.  Bee  ; 
And  she  tells  her  store  of  gossiping 

O'er  his  honey  and  his  glee. 

All  joy  —  all  mirth  —  no  carking  care, 

No  worldly  woe  has  he ; 

Alack !  I  wish  my  lot  it  were 

To  live  as  happily  ! 

—  L.  A.  Twamley, 


THE   SONG   IN   THE   STORM. 

IT  rains,  but  on  a  dripping  bough 
A  little  bird  sings  clear  and  sweet,  — 
I  think  he  knows  not  why  nor  how, 
Except  that  with  his  slender  feet 
He  feels  dear  Nature's  pulses  beat. 

The  wind,  up-rising,  stirs  the  tree, 
And  fast  with  silver  tears  it  weeps ; 

The  little  bird  more  cheerily 

Pipes  with  his  tender  throat,  and  keeps 
His  faith  in  sunshine,  tho'  it  sleeps ! 

There  swings  his  pretty  nest  below ; 
His  mate  sits  listening  to  his  song ; 

'Tis  love  that  makes  her  bosom  glow, 
'Tis  love  that  whispers  all  day  long 
"  Sleep,  sleep,  my  nestlings,  and  grow  strong ! 

Ah,  dreary  sky,  and  dripping  tree, 

And  wind  that  sobbest  in  the  wood, 
Know  well,  if  anywhere  love  be, 


78  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

She  hath  the  sunshine  in  her  hood; 
For  everything  to  love  is  good. 

—  James  Buckham — Youth's  Companion 


>*K< 


THE   GROUND    LAUREL. 

I   LOVE  thee,  pretty  nursling 
Of  vernal  sun  and  rain  ; 
For  thou  art  Flora's  firstling, 
And  leadest  in  her  train. 

When  far  away  I  found  thee, 

It  was  an  April  morn  ; 
The  chilling  blast  blew  round  thee, 

No  bud  had  decked  the  thorn. 

And  thou  alone  wast  hiding 

The  massy  rocks  between, 
Where,  just  below  them  gliding, 

The  Merrimac  was  seen. 

And  while  my  hand  was  brushing 

The  seary  leaves  from  thee, 
It  seemed  that  thou  wast  blushing 

To  be  disclosed  to  me. 

Thou  didst  reward  my  ramble 

By  shining  at  my  feet, 
When,  over  brake  and  bramble, 

I  sought  thy  lone  retreat. 

—  MissH.  F.  Gould. 


SONGS   OF  SPRING.  79 


A    BIRD'S    NEST. 

OVER  my  shaded  doorway, 
Two  little  brown-winged  birds 
Have  chosen  to  fashion  their  dwelling, 
And  utter  their  loving  words. 
All  day  they  are  going  and  coming 
On  errands  frequent  and  fleet, 
And  warbling  over  and  over  — 
"  Sweetest,  sweet,  sweet,  O  sweet !  " 

Their  necks  are  changeful  and  shining, 
Their  eyes  are  like  living  gems, 
And  all  day  long  they  are  busy, 
Gathering  straws  and  stems, 
Lint  and  feathers  and  grasses  ; 
And  half  forgetting  to  eat ; 
Yet  never  failing  to  warble, 
"  Sweetest,  sweet,  sweet,  O  sweet !  " 

I  scatter  crumbs  on  the  doorsteps, 
And  fling  them  some  flossy  threads ; 
They  fearlessly  gather  my  bounty, 
And  turn  up  their  graceful  heads, 
And  chatter,  and  dance,  and  flutter, 
And  scrape  with  their  tiny  feet, 
Telling  me,  over  and  over, 
"  Sweetest,  sweet,  sweet,  O  sweet !  " 

What  if  the  sky  is  clouded  ? 
What  if  the  rain  comes  down  ? 
They  are  all  dressed  to  meet  it, 
In  waterproof  suits  of  brown. 


80  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

They  never  mope  nor  languish 

Nor  murmur  at  storm  or  heat, 

But  say,  —  whatever  the  weather,  — 

"  Sweetest,  sweet,  sweet,  O  sweet !  "  — 

.fc- 

Always  merry  and  busy,  — 
Dear  little  brown-winged  birds, 
Teach  me  the  happy  magic 
Hidden  in  these  soft  words, 
Which  always,  in  shine  or  shadow, 
So  lovingly  you  repeat 
Over,  and  over,  and  over, 
"  Sweetest,  sweet,  sweet,  O  sweet !  " 

—  Florence  Percy. 


£<«< 


BROTHER    ROBIN. 

LISTEN  !  in  the  April  rain, 
Brother  Robin's  here  again : 
Songs  like  showers  come  and  go ; 
He  is  house-building,  I  know. 

Though  he  finds  the  old  pine-tree 
Is  not  where  it  used  to  be, 
And  the  nest  he  made  last  year, 
Torn  and  scattered  far  and  near,  — 


He  has  neither  grief  nor  care 
Building  sites  are  everywhere 


SONGS   OF  SPRING.  81 

If  one  nest  is  blown  away, 
Fields  are  full  of  sticks  and  hay. 

Though  old  mousing  puss  last  year, 
Ate  his  little  ones,  I  fear, 
And  he  almost  died  of  fright, 
That  is  all  forgotten  quite. 

—  Mrs.  Anderson. 


>?Ki 


THE   CHIMNEY   NEST. 

A  DAINTY,  delicate  swallow-feather 
Is  all  that  we  now  in  the  chimney  trace 
Of  something  that,  days  and  days  together, 
With  twittering  bird-notes  filled  the  place. 

Where  are  you  flying  now,  swallow,  swallow  ? 

Where  are  you  waking  the  spaces  blue  ? 
How  many  little  ones  follow,  follow, 

Whose  wings  to  strength  in  the  chimney  grew  ? 

Deep  and  narrow,  and  dark  and  lonely, 
The  sooty  place  that  you  nested  in ; 

Over  you  one  blue  glimmer  only,  — 

Say,  were  there  many  to  make  the  din  ? 

This  is  certain,  that,  somewhere  or  other, 

Up  in  the  chimney  is  loosely  hung 
A  queer-shaped  nest  where  a  patient  mother 

Brooded  a  brood  of  tender  young. 


82  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

That  here,  as  in  many  deserted  places, 
Brimming  with  life  for  hours  and  hours, 

We  miss  with  the  hum  a  thousand  graces, 
Valued  the  more  since  no  more  ours. 

V. 

Ah  !  why  do  we  shut  our  eyes  half  blindly, 
And  close  our  hearts  to  some  wee  things  near, 

Till  He  who  granted  them  kindly,  kindly 
Gathers  them  back,  that  we  see  and  hear, 

And  know,  by  the  loss  of  the  same  grown  dearer, 
Naught  is  so  small  of  his  works  and  ways, 

But,  holding  it  tenderly  when  'twas  nearer, 
Had  added  a  joy  to  our  vanished  days  ? 

So,  little,  delicate  swallow-feather, 

Fashioned  with  care  by  the  Master's  hand, 

I'll  hold  you  close  for  your  message,  whether 
Or  not  the  whole  I  may  understand. 

—  Mary  Barker  Dodge. 


^< 


THE    ROBIN. 

IN  the  tall  elm-tree  sat  the  Robin  bright, 
Through  the  rainy  April  day, 
And  he  caroled  clear  with  a  pure  delight, 

In  the  face  of  the  sky  so  gray. 
And  the  silver  rain  through  the  blossoms  dropped, 

And  fell  on  the  robin's  coat, 
And  his  brave  red  breast,  but  he  never  stopped 
Piping  his  cheerful  note. 


SONGS   OF  SPRING.  83 

For  oh,  the  fields  were  green  and  glad, 

And  the  blissful  life  that  stirred 
In  the  earth's  wide  breast,  was  full  and  warm 

In  the  heart  of  the  little  bird. 
The  rain-cloud  lifted,  the  sunset  light 

Streamed  wide  over  valley  and  hill ; 
As  the  plains  of  heaven  the  land  grew  bright, 

And  the  warm  south  wind  was  still. 

Then  loud  and  clear  called  the  happy  bird, 

And  rapturously  he  sang, 
Till  wood  and  meadow  and  river  side 

With  jubilant  echoes  rang. 
But  the  sun  dropped  down  in  the  quiet  west, 

And  he  hushed  his  song  at  last ; 

All  nature  softly  sank  to  rest, 

And  the  April  day  had  passed. 

—  Celia  Thaxter. 


:>*«< 


DON'T   KILL  THE    BIRDS. 

DON'T  kill  the  birds,  the  pretty  birds, 
That  sing  about  your  door, 
Soon  as  the  joyous  spring  has  come, 

And  chilling  storms  are  o'er. 
The  little  birds,  how  sweet  they  sing ! 

Oh  !  let  them  joyous  live  ; 
And  never  seek  to  take  the  life 
That  you  can  never  give. 


84  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

Don't  kill  the  birds,  the  pretty  birds, 

That  play  among  the  trees  ; 
'Twould  make  the  earth  a  cheerless  place, 

Should  we  dispense  with  these. 
The  little  birds,  how  fond  they  play ! 

Do  not  disturb  their  sport ; 
But  let  them  warble  forth  their  songs, 

Till  winter  cuts  them  short. 

Don't  kill  the  birds,  the  happy  birds, 
That  bless  the  fields  and  grove ; 

So  innocent  to  look  upon, 

They  claim  our  warmest  love. 

The  happy  birds,  the  tuneful  birds, 
How  pleasant  'tis  to  see  ! 

No  spot  can  be  a  cheerless  place 

Where'er  their  presence  be. 

—  Colesworthy . 


:£*« 


ANXIETY. 

A  LITTLE  bird  sat  on  the  edge  of  her  nest; 
Her  yellow-beaks  slept  as  sound  as  tops; 
That  day  she  had  done  her  very  best, 

And  had  filled  every  one  of  their  little  crops ; 
She  had  filled  her  own  just  over-full, 
And  hence  was  feeling  a  little  dull. 

"Oh,  dear!"  she  sighed,  as  she  sat  with  her  head 
Sunk  in  her  chest,  and  no  neck  at  all, 


SONGS   OF  SPRING.  85 

While  her  crop  stuck  out  like  a  feather  bed 

Turned  inside  out,  and  rather  small,  — 
"  What  shall  I  do  if  things  don't  reform  ? 
I  don't  know  where  there's  a  single  worm. 

"  I've  had  twenty  to-day,  and  the  children  five  each, 
Besides  a  few  flies,  and  some  very  fat  spiders, 

No  one  will  say  I  don't  do  as  I  preach : 
I'm  one  of  the  best  of  bird  providers. 

But  where's  the  use  ?  —  we  want  a  storm ; 

I  don't  know  where  there's  a  single  worm." 

"There's  five  in  my  crop,"  said  a  wee,  wee  bird, 
That  woke  at  the  sound  of  his  mother's  pain, 

"  I  know  where  there's  five."     And  with  that  word 
He  tucked  in  his  head,  and  was  off  again. 

"The  folly  of  childhood,"  sighed  his  mother, 

"  Has  always  been  my  especial  bother." 

The  yellow-beaks  they  slept  on  and  on, 

They  never  had  heard  of  the  dread  to-morrow ; 

But  the  mother  sat  outside  making  her  moan 
She'll  soon  have  to  beg,  or  steal,  or  borrow, 

For  she  never  can  tell  the  night  before 

Where  she  shall  find  one  red  worm  more. 

The  fact,  as  I  say,  was,  she'd  had  too  many ; 

She  couldn't  sleep,  and  she  called  it  virtue, 
Motherly  foresight,  affection,  any 

Name  you  may  call  it  that  will  not  hurt  you  ; 
So  it  was  late  when  she  tucked  her  head  in. 
And  she  slept  so  late  it  was  almost  a  sin. 

But  the  little  fellow  who  knew  of  five, 
Nor  troubled  his  head  about  any  more, 


86  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

Woke  very  early,  felt  quite  alive, 

And  wanted  a  sixth  to  add  to  his  store, 
He  pushed  his  mother,  the  greedy  elf, 
Then  thought  he  had  better  try  for  himself. 

When  his  mother  awoke  and  rubbed  her  eyes, 
Feeling  less  like  a  bird,  and  more  like  a  mole, 

She  saw  him,  —  fancy  with  what  a  surprise  — 
Dragging  a  huge  worm  out  of  a  hole  ! 

'Twas  of  this  same  hero  the  proverb  took  form, 

"Tis  the  early  bird  that  catches  the  worm." 

—  George  Macdonald 


>>*< 


ROBERT    OF    LINCOLN. 

MERRILY  swinging  on  brier  and  weed, 
Near  to  the  nest  of  his  little  dame, 
Over  the  mountain-side  or  mead, 

Robert  of  Lincoln  is  telling  his  name ; 
"  Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link, 
Spink,  spank,  spink  ; 
Snug  and  safe  is  that  nest  of  ours, 
Hidden  among  the  summer  flowers. 
Chee,  chee,  chee." 

Robert  of  Lincoln  is  gayly  drest, 

Wearing  a  bright  black  wedding  coat ; 
White  are  his  shoulders,  and  white  his  crest ; 
Hear  him  call  in  his  merry  note  : 
"  Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link, 
Spink,  spank,  spink; 


SONGS   OF  SPUING.  S7 

Look,  what  a  nice  new  coat  is  mine, 

Sure  there  was  never  a  bird  so  fine. 

Chee,  chee,  chee." 

Robert  of  Lincoln's  Quaker  wife, 

Pretty  and  quiet,  with  plain  brown  wings, 
Passing  at  home  a  patient  life, 

Broods  in  the  grass,  while  her  husband  sings, 
"  Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link, 
Spink,  spank,  spink  ; 
Brood,  kind  creature  ;  you  need  not  fear 
Thieves  and  robbers,  while  I  am  here. 
Chee,  chee,  chee." 

Modest  and  shy  as  a  nun  is  she, 

One  weak  chirp  is  her  only  note, 
Braggart  and  prince  of  braggarts  is  he, 
Pouring  boasts  from  his  little  throat, 
"  Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'link, 
Spink,  spank,  spink ; 
Never  was  I  afraid  of  man, 
Catch  me,  cowardly  knaves,  if  you  can ! 
Chee,  chee,  chee." 

Six  white  eggs  on  a  bed  of  hay, 

Flecked  with  purple,  a  pretty  sight ! 
There  as  the  mother  sits  all  day, 

Robert  is  singing  with  all  his  might : 
"  Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'link, 
Spink,  spank,  spink  ; 
Nice  good  wife,  that  never  goes  out, 
Keeping  house,  while  I  frolic  about. 
Chee,  chee,  chee." 


88  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

Soon  as  the  little  ones  chip  the  shell, 
Six  wide  mouths  are  open  for  food, 
Robert  of  Lincoln  bestirs  him  well, 

Gathering  seeds  for  the  hungry  brood ; 
"  Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link, 
Spink,  spank,  spink ; 
This  new  life  is  likely  to  be 
Hard  for  a  gay  young  fellow,  like  me. 
Chee,  chee,  chee." 

Robert  of  Lincoln  at  length  is  made 

Sober  with  work  and  silent  with  care ; 
Off  is  his  holiday  garment  laid, 
Half  forgotten  that  merry  air ; 
"  Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'-link, 
Spink,  spank,  spink ; 
Nobody  knows,  but  my  mate  and  I, 
Where  our  nest  and  our  nestlings  lie. 
Chee,  chee,  chee." 

Summer  wanes  ;  the  children  are  grown  ; 

Fun  and  frolic  no  more  he  knows, 
Robert  of  Lincoln's  a  humdrum  crone ; 
Off  he  flies,  and  we  sing  as  he  goes, 
"  Bob-o'-link,  bob-o'link, 
Spink,  spank,  spink; 
When  you  can  pipe  that  merry  old  strain, 
Robert  of  Lincoln,  come  back  again. 
Chee,  chee,  chee." 

—  William  Cidlen  Bryan . 


* 


SONGS   OF  SPRING. 

MARJORIE'S   ALMANAC. 

ROBINS  in  the  tree-top, 
Blossoms  in  the  grass, 
Green  things  a-growing 

Everywhere  you  pass ; 
Sudden  little  breezes, 

Showers  of  silver  dew, 
Black  bough  and  bent  twig 

Budding  out  anew ; 
Pine-tree  and  willow-tree, 

Fringed  elm,  and  larch,  — 
Don't  you  think  that  May-time's 

Pleasanter  than  March  ? 

Apples  in  the  orchard 

Mellowing  one  by  one ; 
Strawberries  upturning 

Soft  cheeks  to  the  sun ; 
Roses  faint  with  sweetness, 

Lilies  fair  of  face, 
Drowsy  scents  and  murmurs 

Haunting  every  place ; 
Lengths  of  golden  sunshine, 

Moonlight  bright  as  day,  — 
Don't  you  think  that  summer's 

Pleasanter  than  May  ? 

Roger  in  the  corn-patch 
Whistling  negro  songs ; 

Pussy  by  the  hearth-side 
Romping  with  the  tongs ; 


90  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

Chestnuts  in  the  ashes 

Bursting  through  the  rind ; 
Red  leaf  and  gold  leaf 

Rustling  down  the  wind  ; 
Mother  "  doin'  peaches  " 

All  the  afternoon,  — 
Don't  you  think  that  autumn's 

Pleasanter  than  June  ? 

Little  fairy  snow-flakes 

Dancing  in  the  flue ; 
Old  Mr.  Santa  Claus, 

What  is  keeping  you  ? 
Twilight  and  firelight 

Shadows  come  and  go  ; 
Merry  chime  of  sleigh-bells 

Tinkling  through  the  snow ; 
Mother  knitting  stockings 

(Pussy's  got  the  ball), — 
Don't  you  think  that  winter's 

Pleasanter  than  all  ? 

—  Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich. 


-ooXK< 


THE    MONKEY. 

MONKEY,  little  merry  fellow, 
Thou  art  Nature's  Punchinello  ! 
Full  of  fun  as  Puck  could  be, 
Harlequin  might  learn  of  thee ! 

Look  now  at  his  odd  grimaces ! 
Saw  you  ever  such  queer  faces  ? 


SONGS   OF  SPRING.  91 

Now  like  learned  judge  sedate, 
Now  with  nonsense  in  his  pate. 

Look  now  at  him  !  gently  peep  ! 
He  pretends  to  be  asleep,  — 
Fast  asleep  upon  his  bed, 
With  his  arm  beneath  his  head. 

Now  that  posture  is  not  right, 
And  he  is  not  settled  quite ; 
There  !  that's  better  than  before, 
And  the  knave  pretends  to  snore. 

Ha  !  he  is  not  half  asleep  ; 
See,  he  slyly  takes  a  peep ! 
Monkey,  though  your  eyes  were  shut, 
You  could  see  this  little  nut. 

You  shall  have  it,  pigmy  brother ! 
What !  another  ?  and  another  ? 
Nay,  your  cheeks  are  like  a  sack  ; 
Sit  down,  and  begin  to  crack. 

There  !  the  little  ancient  man 
Cracks  as  fast  as  crack  he  can ; 
Now  good-by,  you  merry  fellow, 
Nature's  primest  Punchinello. 

—  Mary  Howitt. 


92  NA  TURE  IN  VERSE. 


THE    PIGEON    HOUSE. 

LOOK  !  here's  a  pretty  pigeon  house  ! 
In*every  narrow  cell 
A  pigeon  with  his  little  wife 
And  family  may  dwell. 

Their  beds  are  only  made  of  straw, 

The  rooms  are  dark  and  small ; 
But  many  though  the  pigeons  be, 

There's  room  enough  for  all. 

Because  they  don't  dispute  and  fret 

For  every  little  thing, 
But  live  in  love  and  gentleness, 

At  home  and  on  the  wing. 

How  soft  and  low  their  cooing  sounds, 
As  each  one  says  "  Good-night !  " 

How  cheerful  when  at  early  morn 
They  dress  their  feathers  white. 

Then  far  into  the  woods  and  fields, 

To  seek  their  food  they  fly, 
Returning  to  their  house  betimes, 

When  sunset  gilds  the  sky. 

—  Blades  and  Flowers, 

NOW   THE    SUN    IS    SINKING. 

NOW  the  sun  is  sinking 
In  the  golden  west ; 
Birds  and  bees  and  children 
All  have  gone  to  rest ; 


SONGS   OF  SPRING.  93 

And  the  merry  streamlet, 

As  it  runs  along, 
With  a  voice  of  sweetness 

Sings  its  evening  song. 

Cowslip,  daisy,  violet, 

In  their  little  beds, 
All  among  the  grasses 

Hide  their  heavy  heads  ; 
Then  they'll  all,  sweet  darlings, 

Lie  in  happy  dreams, 

Till  the  rosy  morning 

Wakes  them  with  its  beams. 

—  Selected. 


O^C 


LULLABY. 

THROUGH  Sleepy-land  doth  a  river  flow  ; 
On  its  further  bank  white  daisies  grow ; 
And  snow-white  sheep,  in  woolly  floss, 
Must,  one  by  one,  be  ferried  across. 
In  a  little  boat  they  safely  ride 
To  the  meadows  green,  on  the  other  side. 
Lullaby,  sing  lullaby ! 

The  boatman  comes  to  carry  the  sheep 
In  his  little  boat  to  the  land  of  sleep ; 
Upon  his  head  is  a  poppy  wreath ; 
His  eyelids  droop,  and  his  eyes  beneath 
Are  drowsy  from  counting,  "  One,  two,  three,"  • 
How  many  sheep  does  the  baby  see? 
Lullaby,  sing  lullaby ! 


94  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

One  little  sheep  has  gone  over  the  stream, 
They  press  to  the  bank.      How  eager  they  seem ! 
Two  little  sheep,  alone  on  the  shore,  — 
Only  two  sheep,  but  he's  bringing  one  more ; 
Three  little  sheep,  in  the  flowery  fields, 
Cropping  the  grass  which  Sleepy-land  yields. 
Lullaby,  sing  lullaby ! 

Four  little,  five  little  sheep  now  are  over ; 
Six  little,  seven  little  sheep  in  the  clover,  — 
Deep  in  the  honey-sweet  clover  they  stand. 
Eight  little,  nine  little  sheep,  now  they  land ; 
Ten,  and  eleven,  and  twelve  little  sheep  !  — 
And  baby,  herself,  is  gone  with  them  to  sleep  !  — 
Lullaby,  sing  lullaby ! 

—  E.  Cavazza  —  St.  Nicholas- 


3>®4c 


TWINKLE,  TWINKLE,  LITTLE   STAR. 

TWINKLE,  twinkle,  little  star; 
How  I  wonder  what  you  are ! 
Up  above  the  world  so  high, 
Like  a  diamond  in  the  sky. 

When  the  blazing  sun  is  gone, 
When  he  nothing  shines  upon, 
Then  you  show  your  little  light, 
Twinkle,  twinkle,  all  the  night. 

In  the  dark  blue  sky  you  keep, 
And  often  through  my  curtains  peep ; 
For  you  never  shut  your  eye 
Till  the  sun  is  in  the  sky. 


SONGS   OF  SPRING.  95 

And  your  bright  and  tiny  spark 

Lights  the  traveler  in  the  dark. 

Though  I  know  not  what  you  are, 

Twinkle,  twinkle,  little  star. 

—  Jane  Taylor 


3^< 


THE   STARS   ARE   COMING. 

SEE,  the  stars  are  coming 
In  the  fair  blue  sky ; 
Mother,  look,  they  brighten  : 
Are  they  angels'  eyes  ? 

No,  my  child,  the  lustre 
Of  the  stars  is  given, 

Like  the  hues  of  flowers, 
By  the  God  of  heaven. 

Mother,  if  I  study, 

Sure  he'll  make  me  know 
Why  the  stars  he  kindled, 

O'er  our  earth  to  glow. 

Child,  what  God  created 
Has  a  glorious  aim ; 

Thine  it  is  to  worship, 
Thine  to  love  his  name. 


96  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 


GOD'S    FATHER-CARE. 

THERE  is  no  birdling  in  the  nest  the  breeze  rocks  in 
the  tree, 
All  featherless  and  fluttering,  with  eyes  that  cannot  see, 
But  brooding  mother-wings  are  there  to  keep  it  snug  and 

warm, 
And  shelter  it  most  lovingly  from  sunshine  and  from  storm. 

To  every  flitting  butterfly  the  flower-cups  open  wide ; 
Beneath  the  green  leaf's  canopy  the  meanest  worm  may 

hide  ; 
Each  tiny  insect  finds  or  builds  some  little  house  or  cell, 
And  in  and  out  goes  happily,  contented  there  to  dwell. 

Now  who  has  thought  of  all  these  things  ?     Who  planned 

and  made  them  all  ? 
The  One  who  counts  the  shining  stars,  and  suffers  none 

to  fall ; 
His  tender  Father-love  is  stretched  o'er  everything  we  see, 
And  faileth  never,  night  or  day,  to  Care  for  you  and  me. 
—  After  the  German  of  Hey —  C.  M.  Harris. 


SONGS  OF   SUMMER. 


"Where  the  mowers  mow  the  cleanest, 
Where  the  hay  lies  thick  and  greenest. 


IS^^^-^f^ 

lysii 

"^\  Tl/>— _-v^  ill  w  r 

5:: iHg)        ^^ft&^O^^S 

Songs  of  Summer* 

PSALM    XXIII. 

"  The  Lord  is  my  shepherd." 

'HE  Lord  is  my  shepherd  ;   I  shall  not  want. 

He  maketh  me  to  lie  down  in  green  pastures; 

he  leadeth  me  beside  the  still  waters. 

He  restoreth  my  soul ;   he  leadeth  me  in  the 

paths  of  righteousness  for  his  name's  sake. 

Yea,  though  I  walk  through  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of 

death,  I  will  fear  no  evil ;  for  thou  art  with  me ;  thy 

rod  and  thy  staff  they  comfort  me. 

Thou  preparest  a  table  before  me  in  the  presence  of  mine 

enemies ;   thou  anointest  my  head  with  oil ;   my  cup 

runneth  over. 

Surely  goodness  and  mercy  shall  follow  me  all  the  days  of 

my  life  :   and  I  will  dwell  in  the  house  of  the  Lord 

for  ever. 

—  Holy  Bible. 

THE   WORKS    OF    GOD. 

GOD  made  the  sky  that  looks  so  blue ; 
He  made  the  grass  so  green ; 
He  made  the  flowers  that  smell  so  sweet, 
In  pretty  color  seen. 
99 


100  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

God  made  the  sun  that  shines  so  bright, 

And  gladdens  all  I  see ; 
It  comes  to  give  us  heat  and  light ; 

How  thankful  should  we  be. 

God  made  the  pretty  bird  to  fly ; 

How  sweetly  has  she  sung; 
And  though  she  flies  so  very  high, 

She  won't  forget  her  young. 

God  made  the  cow  to  give  nice  milk, 

The  horse  for  me  to  use ; 
I'll  treat  them  kindly  for  His  sake, 

Nor  dare  His  gifts  abuse. 

God  made  the  water  for  my  drink ; 

He  made  the  fish  to  swim ; 
He  made  the  tree  to  bear  nice  fruit ; 

Oh,  how  should  I  love  Him. 


>^c 


—  Taylor. 


THE   USE   OF   FLOWERS. 

GOD  might  have  bade  the  earth  bring  forth 
Enough  for  great  and  small, 
The  oak  tree,  and  the  cedar  tree, 
Without  a  flower  at  all. 

He  might  have  made  enough,  enough, 

For  every  want  of  ours  ; 
For  luxury,  medicine,  and  toil, 

And  yet  have  made  no  flowers. 


SONGS   OF  SUMMER.  101 

The  ore  within  the  mountain  mine 

Requireth  none  to  grow, 
Nor  doth  it  need  the  lotus  flower 

To  make  the  river  flow. 

The  clouds  might  give  abundant  rain, 

The  nightly  dews  might  fall, 
And  the  herb  that  keepeth  life  in  man 

Might  yet  have  drunk  them  all. 

Then  wherefore,  wherefore  were  they  made 

All  dyed  with  rainbow  light, 
All  fashion'd  with  supremest  grace, 

Upspringing  day  and  night  — 

Springing  in  valleys  green  and  low, 

And  on  the  mountains  high, 
And  in  the  silent  wilderness, 

Where  no  man  passeth  by  ? 

Our  outward  life  requires  them  not, 

Then  wherefore  had  they  birth  ? 
To  minister  delight  to  man, 

To  beautify  the  earth  ; 

To  whisper  hope  —  to  comfort  man 

Whene'er  his  faith  is  dim ; 

For  whoso  careth  for  the  flowers 

Will  care  much  more  for  Him ! 

—  Mary  Howitt. 


102  NATURE   IN  VERSE. 


WE   THANK   THEE. 

FOR  flowers  that  bloom  about  our  feet; 
For  tender  grass,  so  fresh,  so  sweet ; 
For  song  of  bird  and  hum  of  bee  ; 
For  all  things  fair  we  hear  or  see,  — 
Father  in  heaven,  we  thank  thee ! 

For  blue  of  stream  and  blue  of  sky ; 
For  pleasant  shade  of  branches  high  ; 
For  fragrant  air  and  cooling  breeze  ; 
For  beauty  of  the  blooming  trees,  — 
Father  in  heaven,  we  thank  thee ! 

For  mother-love  and  father-care, 
For  brothers  strong  and  sisters  fair ; 
For  love  at  home  and  school  each  day ; 
For  guidance,  lest  we  go  astray,  — 
Father  in  heaven,  we  thank  thee  ! 

For  thy  dear,  everlasting  arms, 

That  bear  us  o'er  all  ills  and  harms ; 

For  blessed  words  of  long  ago, 

That  help  us  now  thy  will  to  know,  — 

Father  in  heaven,  we  thank  thee  ! 

—  Selected. 


>*K< 


A    SONG    OF    SUMMER. 

CUCKOO  sat  on  a  tree  and  sang, 
"  Summer  is  coming,  coming  ;  " 


A 


And  a  bee  crept  out  of  the  hive  and  began 
Lazily  humming,  humming. 


SONGS    OF  SUMMER.  103 

The  frogs,  from  out  the  rushes  and  reeds, 

Into  the  water  went  splashing ; 
And  the  dragon-fly,  with  his  body  of  green, 

Through  the  flags  went  flashing,  flashing. 

The  dormouse  put  out  her  head  and  said, 

"  Really  the  sun  shines  brighter ;  " 
But  the  butterfly  answered,  "  Not  yet,  not  yet," 

And  folded  his  wings  up  tighter. 

But  the  thrush  and  the  blackbird  began  to  sing 

Ever  sweeter  and  sweeter, 
And  the  grasshopper  chirped,  and  hopped  and  skipped 

Ever  fleeter  and  fleeter. 

The  gnats  and  the  chafers  began  to  buzz ; 

And  the  swallows  began  to  chatter ; 
"  We  have  come  from  abroad  with  the  summer  at  last. 

How  lazy  you  are  !     What's  the  matter  ?  " 

Then  the  dormouse  said,  "  Summer's  really  here, 
Since  the  swallows  are  homeward  coming ;  " 

And  the  butterfly  spread  out  his  wings,  and  the  bee 
Went  louder  and  louder  humming. 

And  suddenly  brighter  the  sun  shone  out, 

And  the  clouds  away  went  sailing, 
And  the  sheep  nibbled  peacefully  at  the  grass, 

And  the  cow  looked  over  the  paling. 

Yes,  summer  had  come,  and  the  cuckoo  sang 

His  song  through  woodland  and  hollow ; 

"  The  summer  is  come ;  if  you  don't  believe  me, 

You  have  only  to  ask  the  swallow." 

—  Selected. 


104  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 


MERRY   SUNSHINE. 


GOOD-MORNING,  Merry  Sunshine, 
How  did  you  wake  so  soon  ? 
You've  scared  the  little  stars  away 

And  shined  away  the  moon. 
I  saw  you  go  to  sleep  last  night 

Before  I  ceased  my  playing, 
How  did  you  get  way  over  there  ? 
And  where  have  you  been  staying  ? 

I  never  go  to  sleep,  dear  child, 

I  just  go  round  to  see 
My  little  children  of  the  east, 

Who  rise  and  watch  for  me. 
I  waken  all  the  birds  and  bees 

And  flowers  on  my  way, 
And  now  come  back  to  see  the  child 

Who  stayed  out  late  at  play. 


Selected. 


3^< 


SUMMER   TIME. 

I   LOVE  the  cheerful  summer  time, 
With  all  its  birds  and  flowers, 
Its  shining  garments  green  and  smooth, 
Its  cool,  refreshing  showers. 

I  love  to  hear  the  little  birds 

That  carol  on  the  trees ; 
I  love  the  gentle  murmuring  stream ; 

I  love  the  evening  breeze. 


SONGS   OF  SUMMER.  105 

I  love  the  bright  and  glorious  sun 

That  gives  us  light  and  heat ; 
I  love  the  pearly  drops  of  dew 

That  sparkle  'neath  my  feet. 

I  love  to  hear  the  busy  hum  ' 

Of  honey-making  bee, 
And  learn  a  lesson,  hard  to  learn, 

Of  patient  industry. 

I  love  to  see  the  playful  lambs, 

So  innocent  and  gay ; 
I  love  the  faithful,  watchful  dog 

Who  guards  them  night  and  day. 

I  love  to  think  of  Him  who  made 

These  pleasant  things  for  me ; 
Who  gave  me  life  and  health  and  strength, 

And  eyes  that  I  might  see. 

I  love  the  holy  Sabbath-day, 

So  peaceful,  calm,  and  still ; 
And  oh,  I  love  to  go  to  church, 

To  learn  my  Maker's  will. 


Selected. 


3*X< 


THE   SUNBEAM. 

A  LITTLE  sunbeam  in  the  sky 
Said  to  itself  one  day : 
"  I'm  very  small,  but  why  should  I 

Do  nothing  else  but  play  ? 
I'll  go  down  to  the  earth  and  see 
If  there  is  any  use  for  me." 


106  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

The  violet  beds  were  wet  with  dew, 
Which  filled  each  heavy  cup ; 

The  little  sunbeam  darted  through, 
And  raised  their  blue  heads  up ; 

They  smiled  to  see  it,  and  they  lent 

The  morning's  breeze  their  sweetest  scent 

A  mother,  'neath  a  shady  tree, 

Had  left  her  babe  asleep  ; 
It  woke  and  cried,  but  when  it  spied 

The  little  sunbeam  peep 
So  slyly  in,  with  glance  so  bright, 
It  laughed  and  chuckled  with  delight. 

On,  on  it  went,  it  might  not  stay : 
Now  through  a  window  small 

It  poured  its  glad  but  tiny  ray, 
And  danced  upon  the  wall. 

A  pale  young  face  looked  up  to  meet 

The  sunbeam  she  had  watched  to  greet 

And  now  away  beyond  the  sea 

The  merry  sunbeam  went ; 
A  ship  was  on  the  waters  free, 

From  home  and  country  sent, 
But,  sparkling  in  the  sunbeam's  play, 
The  blue  waves  curled  around  her  way. 

A  voyager  stood  and  watched  them  there, 

With  heart  of  bitter  pain  ; 
She  gazed,  and  half  forgot  her  care, 

And  hope  came  back  again. 
She  said,  "  The  waves  are  full  of  glee, 
Then  yet  there  may  be  joy  for  me !  " 


SONGS   OF  SUMMER.  107 

And  so  it  traveled  to  and  fro, 

And  frisked  and  danced  about ; 
And  not  a  door  was  shut,  I  know, 

To  keep  the  sunbeam  out. 
But  ever,  as  it  touched  the  earth, 
It  woke  up  happiness  and  mirth. 

I  may  not  tell  the  history 

Of  all  that  it  could  do, 
But  I  tell  you  this,  that  you  may  try 

To  be  a  sunbeam  too ; 

By  little  smiles  to  soothe  and  cheer, 

And  make  your  presence  ever  dear. 

—  Selected. 


3>©<C 


LITTLE   SUNBEAM. 

LITTLE  yellow  Sunbeam, 
Waking  up  one  day, 
Down  into  the  garden 

Took  her  shining  way; 
Merrily  went  dancing 

Down  the  morning  air, 
Shaking  out  the  sparkles 
From  her  golden  hair. 

Little  yellow  Sunbeam 

Twinkled  all  about, 
Down  among  the  green  leaves 

Flitting  in  and  out. 


108  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

Waking  up  the  daisies 

From  their  morning  doze, 
Ringing  up  the  lily-bells, 

Knocking  up  the  rose. 
*c 

Little  yellow  Sunbeam, 

Climbing  up  the  wall, 
On  the  baby's  window 

Happened  for  to  fall ; 
In  the  little  chamber 

As  she  took  a  peep, 
There  she  saw  the  Lovely  One 

Lying  fast  asleep. 

Little  yellow  Sunbeam 

Tripped  into  the  room, 
Sweeping  out  the  darkness 

With  her  golden  broom. 
All  the  little  shadows, 

Glimmering  and  gray, 
Gathered  up  their  dusky  skirts, 

Softly  slid  away. 

Little  yellow  Sunbeam, 

Flitting  to  the  bed, 
Merrily  went  dancing 

Round  the  baby's  head. 
Suddenly  there  flashed  out, 

To  her  great  surprise, 
Other  little  sunbeams 

From  the  baby's  eyes. 

Little  yellow  Sunbeam 
Said,  "  How  can  this  be  ? 


SONGS   OF  SUMMER.  109 

Whence  these  little  sparklers 

So  unlike  to  me  ? 
Scarce  I  think  they  can  be 

Sunbeams  real  and  true, 
For  we  all  are  yellow ; 

These  are  lovely  blue." 

Little  yellow  Sunbeam 

Flew  back  to  the  sky, 
Running  to  her  father, 

She  began  to  cry  : 
"  Father,  you  must  vanish  ! 

Run  and  hide  your  head  ! 
There's  a  brighter  sun  than  you 

In  the  baby's  bed." 

—  In  My  Nursery  —  Laura  E.  Richards. 


dX^c 


THE    FOUR   SUNBEAMS. 

FOUR  little  sunbeams  came  earthward  one  day, 
Shining  and  dancing  along  on  their  way, 
Resolved  that  their  course  should  be  blest. 
"  Let  us  try,"  they  all  whispered,  "  some  kindness  to  do, 
Not  seek  our  own  pleasuring  all  the  day  through, 
Then  meet  in  the  eve  at  the  west." 

One  sunbeam  ran  in  at  a  low  cottage  door, 

And  played  "  hide-and-seek  "  with  a  child  on  the  floor, 

Till  baby  laughed  loud  in  his  glee, 
And  chased  with  delight  his  strange  playmate  so  bright, 
The  little  hands  grasping  in  vain  for  the  light 

That  ever  before  them  would  flee. 


110  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

One  crept  to  the  couch  where  an  invalid  lay, 

And  brought  him  a  dream  of  the  sweet  summer  day, 

Its  bird-song  and  beauty  and  bloom ; 
Till  pain  was  forgotten  and  weary  unrest, 
And  in  fancy  he  roamed  through  the  scenes  he  loved  best, 

Far  away  from  the  dim,  darkened  room. 

One  stole  to  the  heart  of  a  flower  that  was  sad, 
And  loved  and  caressed  her  until  she  was  glad, 

And  lifted  her  white  face  again ; 
For  love  brings  content  to  the  lowliest  lot, 
And  finds  something  sweet  in  the  dreariest  spot, 

And  lightens  all  labor  and  pain. 

And  one,  where  a  little  blind  girl  sat  alone 
Not  sharing  the  mirth  of  her  playfellows,  shone 

On  hands  that  were  folded  and  pale, 
And  kissed  the  poor  eyes  that  had  never  known  sight, 
That  never  would  gaze  on  the  beautiful  light 

Till  angels  had  lifted  the  veil. 

At  last,  when  the  shadows  of  evening  were  falling, 

And  the  sun,  their  great  father,  his  children  was  calling, 

Four  sunbeams  sped  into  the  west. 

All  said,  "  We  have  found  that  in  seeking  the  pleasure 

Of  others,  we  fill  to  the  full  our  own  measure,"  — 

Then  softly  they  sank  to  their  rest. 

—M.K.B. 


tf 


SONGS    OF  SUMMER.  Ill 


LITTLE    NANNIE. 

FAWN-FOOTED  Nannie, 
Where  have  you  been  ? 
"  Chasing  the  sunbeams 

Into  the  glen ; 
Plunging  through  silver  lakes 

After  the  moon ; 
Tracking  o'er  meadows 
The  footsteps  of  June." 

Sunny-eyed  Nannie, 

What  did  you  see  ? 
"  Saw  the  fays  sewing 

Green  leaves  on  a  tree  ; 
Saw  the  waves  counting 

The  eyes  of  the  stars  : 
Saw  cloud-lambs  sleeping 

By  sunset's  red  bars." 

Listening  Nannie, 

What  did  you  hear  ? 
"  Heard  the  rain  asking 

A  rose  to  appear ; 
Heard  the  woods  tell 

When  the  wind  whistled  wrong ; 
Heard  the  stream  flow 

Where  the  bird  drinks  his  song." 

Nannie,  dear  Nannie, 

Oh,  take  me  with  you, 
To  run  and  to  listen, 

And  see  as  you  do ! 


112  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 


"  Nay,  nay  !  you  must  borrow 

My  ear  and  my  eye, 

Or  the  beauty  will  vanish, 

The  music  will  die." 

—  Lucy  Larcom* 


:>XKc 


A   SUMMER   DAY. 

THIS  is  the  way  the  morning  dawns: 
Rosy  tints  on  flowers  and  trees, 
Winds  that  wake  the  birds  and  bees, 
Dew-drops  on  the  flowers  and  lawns  — 
This  is  the  way  the  morning  dawns. 

This  is  the  way  the  sun  comes  up : 
Gold  on  brooks  and  grass  and  leaves, 
Mist  that  melts  above  the  sheaves. 
Vine  and  rose  and  buttercup  — 
This  is  the  way  the  sun  comes  up. 

This  is  the  way  the  rain  comes  down : 

Tinkle,  tinkle,  drop  by  drop, 

Over  roof  and  chimney-top  ; 
Boughs  that  bend,  and  clouds  that  frown 
This  is  the  way  the  rain  comes  down. 

This  is  the  way  the  river  flows : 
Here  a  whirl,  and  there  a  dance, 
Slowly  now,  then,  like  a  lance, 

Swiftly  to  the  sea  it  goes  — 

This  is  the  way  the  river  flows. 


SONGS   OF  SUMMER.  113 

This  is  the  way  the  daylight  dies : 
Cows  are  lowing  in  the  lane, 
Fireflies  wink  o'er  hill  and  plain ; 

Yellow,  red,  and  purple  skies  — 

This  is  the  way  the  daylight  dies. 

—  Selected. 


>XKc 


MUSIC    OF    NATURE. 

HAVE  you  heard  the  waters  singing, 
Little  May, 
Where  the  willows  green  are  leaning 
O'er  their  way  ? 
Do  you  know  how  low  and  sweet, 
O'er  the  pebbles  at  their  feet, 
Are  the  words  the  waves  repeat, 
Night  and  day  ? 

Have  you  heard  the  robins  singing, 

Little  one, 
Where  the  rosy  day  is  breaking  — 
When  'tis  done  ? 
Have  you  heard  the  wooing  breeze, 
In  the  blossomed  orchard  trees, 
And  the  drowsy  hum  of  bees 
In  the  sun  ? 

All  the  earth  is  full  of  music, 

Little  May; 
Bird  and  bee  and  water  singing 

On  its  way. 

i 


114  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

Let  their  silver  voices  fall 

On  thy  heart  with  happy  call : 

"  Praise  the  Lord  who  loveth  all, 

Night  and  day." 
te  —  Selected. 

UNDER   THE   GREENWOOD    TREE. 

UNDER  the  greenwood  tree, 
Who  loves  to  lie  with  me, 
And  tune  his  merry  note 
Unto  the  sweet  bird's  throat  ? 
Come  hither,  come  hither,  come  hither; 
Here  shall  we  see 
No  enemy 
But  winter  and  rough  weather. 

Who  doth  ambition  shun, 

And  loves  to  live  in  the  sun, 

Seeking  the  food  he  eats, 

And  pleased  with  what  he  gets  ? 

Come  hither,  come  hither,  come  hither ; 

Here  shall  we  see 

No  enemy 
But  winter  and  rough  weather. 

—  William  Shakespeare 


SONGS   OF  SUMMER.  115 


SUMMER   WOODS. 

COME  ye  unto  the  summer  woods 
There  entereth  no  annoy ; 
All  greenly  wave  the  chestnut  leaves, 
And  the  earth  is  full  of  joy. 

There  come  the  little  gentle  birds, 

Without  a  fear  of  ill, 
Down  to  the  murmuring  water's  edge, 

And  freely  drink  their  fill ; 

And  dash  about  and  splash  about, 

The  merry  little  things, 
And  look  askance  with  bright  black  eyes, 

And  flirt  their  dripping  wings. 

There's  enough  for  every  one, 

And  they  lovingly  agree  ; 

We  might  learn  a  lesson  all  of  us, 

Beneath  the  greenwood  tree. 

—  Mary  Howitt. 


&K< 


IN   THE    MEADOW. 

THE  meadow  is  a  battle-field 
Where  summer's  army  comes ; 
Each  soldier  with  a  clover  shield, 

The  honey-bees  with  drums. 
Boom,  rat-ta !  they  march,  and  pass 

The  captain  tree  who  stands 

Saluting  with  a  sword  of  grass 

And  giving  them  commands. 


116  NATURE   IN  VERSE. 

'Tis  only  when  the  breezes  blow 

Across  the  woody  hills, 
They  shoulder  arms,  and,  to  and  fro, 

March  in  their  full-dress  drills. 
Boom,  rat-ta  !  they  wheel  in  line 

And  wave  their  gleaming  spears ; 
"  Charge  !  "  cries  the  captain,  giving  sign, 

And  every  soldier  cheers. 

But  when  the  day  is  growing  dim, 

They  gather  in  their  camps 
And  sing  a  good  thanksgiving  hymn 

Around  the  firefly  lamps. 
Rat-tat-ta !  the  bugle-notes 

Call  "  good-night  "  to  the  sky  ; 
I  hope  they  all  have  overcoats 

To  keep  them  warm  and  dry. 


Selected. 


>XKc 


THE   RIVER. 


OTELL  me,  pretty  river ! 
Whence  do  thy  waters  flow  ? 
And  whither  art  thou  roaming, 
So  pensive  and  so  slow  ? 

"  My  birthplace  was  the  mountain, 
My  nurse,  the  April  showers ; 

My  cradle  was  a  fountain, 
O'ercurtained  by  wild  flowers. 


SOJVGS   OF  SUMMED.  117 

"  One  morn  I  ran  away, 

A  madcap,  hoyden  rill  — 
And  many  a  prank  that  day 

I  play'd  adown  the  hill ! 

"  And  then,  mid  meadowy  banks, 

I  flirted  with  the  flowers 
That  stoop'd  with  glowing  lips 

To  woo  me  to  their  bowers. 

"  But  these  bright  scenes  are  o'er, 

And  darkly  flows  my  wave  — 
I  hear  the  ocean's  roar, 

And  there  must  be  my  grave  !  " 

— Samuel  G.  Goodrich. 


&XS 


THE   CLOUDS. 

HIGH  above  us,  slowly  sailing 
Little  clouds  so  soft  and  white, 
You  are  like  the  wings  of  angels, 
Watching  o'er  us  day  and  night. 

When  the  summer  sun  is  shining 
And  the  sky  is  blue  above, 

Then  you  look  at  us  and  send  us 
Radiant  smiles  of  joy  and  love. 

In  the  morning  very  early 
From  his  soft  and  lowly  nest 

Soars  the  lark  with  joyous  carol 
Till  he  nestles  in  your  breast. 


:18  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 


Tender  messages  he  carries 

From  the  flowers  that  watch  and  sigh 
As  they  gaze  upon  you  sailing, 

Slowly  sailing  through  the  sky. 


Selected. 


K 


>>«<< 


THE    DEW. 


MAMMA,"  said  little  Isabel, 
"  While  I  am  fast  asleep 
The  pretty  grass  and  lovely  flowers 
Do  nothing  else  but  weep. 

"  For  every  morning,  when  I  wake, 
The  glistening  tear-drops  lie 

Upon  each  tiny  blade  of  grass, 
And  in  each  flower's  eye. 

"  I  wonder  why  the  grass  and  flowers 

At  night  become  so  sad,  — 
For  early  through  their  tears  they  smile 

And  seem  all  day  so  glad. 

"  Perhaps  'tis  when  the  sun  goes  down 
They  fear  the  gathering  shade, 

And  that  is  why  they  cry  at  night  — 
Because  they  are  afraid. 

"  Mamma,  if  I  should  go  and  tell 
The  pretty  grass  and  flowers 

About  God's  watchful  love  and  care 
Through  the  dark  midnight  hours,  — 


SONGS   OF  SUMMER.  119 

"  I  think  they  would  no  longer  fear, 

But  cease  at  night  to  weep ; 
And  then,  perhaps  they'd  bow  their  heads, 

And  gently  go  to  sleep." 

"What  seemeth  tears,"  the  mother  said, 

"  Is  the  refreshing  dew 
Our  Heavenly  Father  sendeth  down, 

Each  morn  and  evening  new. 

"  The  glittering  drops  of  pearly  dew 

Are  to  the  grass  and  flowers 
What  slumber  through  the  silent  night 

Is  to  this  life  of  ours. 

"  Thus  God  remembers  all  the  works 

That  he  in  love  hath  made ; 

O'er  all,  his  watchfulness  and  care 

Are  night  and  day  displayed." 

—  Selected. 


?>m 


RAIN    IN    SUMMER. 

O  GENTLE,  gentle  summer  rain, 
Let  not  the  silver  lily  pine, 
The  drooping  lily  pine  in  vain 

To  feel  that  dewy  touch  of  thine,  — 
To  drink  thy  freshness  once  again, 
O  gentle,  gentle  summer  rain  ! 

In  heat  the  landscape  quivering  lies ; 
The  cattle  pant  beneath  the  tree ; 


120  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

Through  parching  air  and  purple  skies 
The  earth  looks  up,  in  vain,  for  thee ; 
For  thee,  —  for  thee,  it  looks  in  vain, 
O  gentle,  gentle  summer  rain  ! 

v.- 

Come,  then,  and  brim  the  meadow  streams, 
And  soften  all  the  hills  with  mist, 

O  falling  dew  !  from  burning  dreams 
By  thee  shall  herb  and  flower  be  kissed, 

And  Earth  shall  bless  thee  yet  again, 

O  gentle,  gentle  summer  rain  ! 

—  W.  C.  Bennett. 

SUMMER   SHOWER. 

A  DROP  fell  on  the  apple-tree, 
Another  on  the  roof ; 
A  half  a  dozen  kissed  the  eaves, 
And  made  the  gables  laugh. 

A  few  went  out  to  help  the  brook, 

That  went  to  help  the  sea ; 
Myself  conjectured,  were  they  pearls, 

What  necklaces  could  be  ! 

The  dust  replaced  in  hoisted  roads, 

The  birds  jocoser  sung ; 
The  sunshine  threw  his  hat  away ; 

The  orchards  spangles  hung. 

The  breezes  brought  dejected  lutes, 

And  bathed  them  in  the  glee ; 

The  East  put  out  a  single  flag, 

And  signed  the  fete  away. 

—  E?nily  Dickinson. 


SONGS   OF  SUMMER.  121 


A   SONG   OF   CLOVER. 

I  WONDER  what  the  Clover  thinks 
Intimate  friend  of  Bob-o'-links, 
Lover  of  Daisies  slim  and  white, 
Waltzer  with  Buttercups  at  night ; 
Keeper  of  Inn  for  traveling  Bees, 
Serving  to  them  wine  dregs  and  lees, 
Left  by  the  Royal  Humming  Birds, 
Who  sip  and  pay  with  fine-spun  words ; 
Fellow  with  all  the  lowliest, 
Peer  of  the  gayest  and  the  best ; 
Comrade  of  winds,  beloved  of  sun, 
Kissed  by  the  Dew-drops,  one  by  one ; 
Prophet  of  Good-Luck  mystery 
By  sign  of  four  which  few  may  see ; 
Symbol  of  Nature's  magic  zone, 
One  out  of  three,  and  three  in  one  ; 
Emblem  of  comfort  in  the  speech 
Which  poor  men's  babies  early  reach ; 
Sweet  by  the  roadsides,  sweet  by  rills, 
Sweet  in  the  meadows,  sweet  on  hills, 
Sweet  in  its  white,  sweet  in  its  red,  — 
Oh,  half  its  sweetness  cannot  be  said ;  — 
Sweet  in  its  every  living  breath, 
Sweetest,  perhaps,  at  last,  in  death ! 
Oh  !  who  knows  what  the  Clover  thinks  ? 

No  one  !  unless  the  Bob-o'-links  ! 

—  Saxe  Holm. 


222  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 


PEBBLES. 


OUT  of  a  pellucid  brook 
Pebbles  round  and  smooth  I  took; 
Like  a  jewel,  every  one 
Caught  a  color  from  the  sun,  — 
Ruby  red  and  sapphire  blue, 
Emerald  and  onyx  too, 
Diamond  and  amethyst,  — 
Not  a  precious  stone  I  missed ; 
Gems  I  held  from  every  land 
In  the  hollow  of  my  hand. 
Workman  Water  these  had  made ; 
Patiently  through  sun  and  shade, 
With  the  ripples  of  the  rill 
He  had  polished  them  until, 
Smooth,  symmetrical  and  bright, 
Each  one  sparkling  in  the  light 
Showed  within  its  burning  heart 
All  the  lapidary's  art ; 
And  the  brook  seemed  thus  to  sing  : 
Patience  conquers  everything ! 

— Frank  De?npster  Sherman. 


:>*»« 


WHAT   THE    BURDOCK   WAS    GOOD    FOR. 

"  /""*OOD  for  nothing,"  the  farmer  said, 

^-2  As  he  made  a  sweep  at  the  burdock's  head ; 
But  then,  it  was  best,  no  doubt, 
To  come  some  day  and  root  her  out. 


SONGS   OF  SUMMER.  123 

So  he  lowered  his  scythe,  and  went  his  way, 
To  see  his  corn,  or  gather  his  hay ; 
And  the  weed  grew  safe  and  strong  and  tall, 
Close  by  the  side  of  the  garden  wall. 

"  Good  for  home,"  cried  the  little  toad, 

As  he  hopped  up  out  of  the  dusty  road. 

He  had  just  been  having  a  dreadful  fright,  — 

The  boy  who  gave  it  was  yet  in  sight. 

Here  it  was  cool,  and  dark,  and  green, 

The  safest  kind  of  a  leafy  screen. 

The  toad  was  happy  :  "  For,"  said  he, 

"  The  burdock  was  plainly  meant  for  me." 

"Good  for  a  prop,"  the  spider  thought, 

And  to  and  fro  with  care  he  wrought, 

Till  he  fastened  it  well  to  an  evergreen 

And  span  his  cables  fine  between. 

'Twas  a  beautiful  bridge,  —  a  triumph  of  skill, 

The  flies  came  'round  as  idlers  will ; 

The  spider  lurked  in  his  corner  dim ; 

The  more  that  came  the  better  for  him. 

"  Good  for  play,"  said  a  child,  perplext 
To  know  what  frolic  was  coming  next ; 
So  she  gathered  the  burrs  that  all  despised, 
And  her  city  playmates  were  quite  surprised 
To  see  what  a  beautiful  basket  or  chair 
Could  be  made,  with  a  little  time  and  care. 
They  ranged  their  treasures  about  with  pride, 
And  played  all  day  by  the  burdock's  side. 

Nothing  is  lost  in  this  world  of  ours ; 
Honey  comes  from  the  idle  flowers ; 


124  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

The  weed  which  we  pass  in  utter  scorn, 

May  save  a  life  by  another  morn ; 

Wonders  await  us  at  every  turn. 

We  must  be  silent  and  gladly  learn, 

No  room  for  recklessness  or  abuse, 

Since  even  a  burdock  has  its  use. 

— Selected. 


LILY'S    BALL. 

LILY  gave  a  party, 
And  her  little  playmates  all, 
Gayly  dressed  came  in  their  best, 
To  dance  at  Lily's  ball. 

Little  Quaker  Primrose 

Sat  and  never  stirred, 
And,  except  in  whispers, 

Never  spoke  a  word. 

Snowdrop  nearly  fainted 

Because  the  room  was  hot, 
And  went  away  before  the  rest 

With  sweet  Forget-me-not. 

Pansy  danced  with  Daffodil, 

Rose  with  Violet ; 
Silly  Daisy  fell  in  love 

With  pretty  Mignonette. 

But,  when  they  danced  the  country-dance, 

One  could  scarcely  tell 
Which  of  these  two  danced  it  best  — 

Cowslip  or  Heatherbell. 


SONGS   OF  SUMMER.  125 

Between  the  dances,  when  they  all 

Were  seated  in  their  places, 
I  thought  I'd  never  seen  before 

So  many  pretty  faces. 

But,  of  all  the  pretty  maidens 

I  saw  at  Lily's  ball, 
Darling  Lily  was  to  me 

The  sweetest  of  them  all. 

And  when  the  dance  was  over, 

They  went  downstairs  to  sup  ; 
Each  had  a  taste  of  honey-cake, 

With  dew  in  a  buttercup. 

And  all  were  dressed  to  go  away 

Before  the  set  of  sun ; 
And  Lily  said  "  Good-bye,"  and  gave 

A  kiss  to  every  one. 

Before  the  moon  or  a  single  star 

Was  shining  overhead, 

Lily  and  all  her  little  friends 

Were  fast  asleep  in  bed. 

—  Fun  and  Earnest. 


)>Xc 


PANSY    SONG. 

OPEN  your  eyes,  my  pansies  sweet, 
Open  your  eyes,  open  to  me, 
Where  did  you  get  your  purple  hue  ? 
Did  a  cloud  smile  as  you  came  through  ? 


126  NATURE   IN  VERSE. 

Open  your  eyes,  my  pansies  sweet, 
Open  your  eyes,  open  to  me, 
Did  a  little  sunbeam  bold 
Kiss  on  your  lips  that  tint  of  gold  ? 

V: 

Open  your  eyes,  my  pansies  sweet, 
Open  your  eyes,  open  to  me, 
Driving  away  with  face  so  true, 
The  chilly  winds  and  wintry  hue. 

Whisper  to  me,  oh  pansies  sweet, 
Tell  me,  oh,  tell  me,  in  rustling  low, 
Then  as  I  bend  with  listening  ear 
Your  cheerful  voice  I  plainly  hear. 


UXS 


Selected. 


THE    LILY   OF   THE   VALLEY. 

I   HAD  found  out  a  sweet  green  spot, 
Where  a  lily  was  blooming  fair ; 
The  din  of  the  city  disturbed  it  not, 
But  the  spirit  that  shades  the  quiet  cot 
With  its  wings  of  love  was  there. 

I  found  that  lily's  bloom, 

When  the  day  was  dark  and  chill ; 
It  smiled  like  a  star  in  a  misty  gloom, 
And  it  sent  abroad  a  soft  perfume, 

Which  is  floating  around  me  still. 

I  sat  by  the  lily's  bell, 

And  watched  it  many  a  day; 


SONGS   OF  SUMMER.  127 

The  leaves,  that  rose  in  a  flowing  swell, 
Grew  faint  and  dim,  then  drooped  and  fell, 
And  the  flower  had  flown  away. 


Percival. 


3^JC 


A   CHILD   TO   A    ROSE. 

WHITE  Rose,  talk  to  me! 
I  don't  know  what  to  do. 
Why  do  you  say  no  word  to  me 

Who  say  so  much  to  you  ? 
I'm  bringing  you  a  little  rain, 

And  I  shall  feel  so  proud 
If,  when  you  feel  it  on  your  face, 

You  take  me  for  a  cloud. 
Here  I  come  so  softly 

You  cannot  hear  me  walking ; 
If  I  take  you  by  surprise 

I  may  catch  you  talking. 

White  Rose,  are  you  tired 

Of  staying  in  one  place  ? 
Do  you  ever  wish  to  see 

The  wild  flowers,  face  to  face  ? 
Do  you  know  the  woodbines, 

And  the  big  brown-crested  reeds  ? 
Do  you  wonder  how  they  live 

So  friendly  with  the  weeds  ? 
Have  you  any  work  to  do 

When  you've  finished  growing? 

Shall  you  teach  your  little  buds 

Pretty  ways  of  blowing  ? 

—  Poems  for  a  Child. 


128  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 


FORGET-ME-NOT. 

WHEN  to  the  flowers  —  so  beautiful 
The  Father  gave  a  name, 
Back  came  a  little  blue-eyed  one 

(All  timidly  it  came) 
And  standing  at  its  Father's  feet, 

And  gazing  in  his  face  — 
It  said  in  low  and  trembling  tones, 

With  sweet  and  gentle  grace, 
"  Dear  God,  the  name  thou  gavest  me 

Alas!  I  have  forgot." 
Then  kindly  looked  the  Father  down, 

And  said,  "  Forget-me-not." 


—  Selected. 


>X*c 


DISCONTENT. 

DOWN  in  a  field,  one  day  in  June, 
The  flowers  all  bloomed  together, 
Save  one,  who  tried  to  hide  herself, 
And  drooped  —  that  pleasant  weather. 

A  robin,  who  had  flown  too  high 

^And  felt  a  little  lazy, 
Was  resting  near  the  buttercup, 
Who  wished  she  were  a  daisy. 

For  daisies  grow  so  trim  and  tall ; 

She  always  had  a  passion 
For  wearing  frills  around  her  neck, 

In  just  the  daisies'  fashion. 


SONGS   OF  SUMMER.  129 

And  buttercups  must  always  be 

The  same  old,  tiresome  color, 
While  daisies  dress  in  gold  and  white, 

Although  their  gold  is  duller. 

"  Dear  robin,"  said  this  sad  young  flower, 

"  Perhaps  you'd  not  mind  trying 
To  find  a  nice  white  frill  for  me 

Some  day,  when  you  are  flying." 

"You  silly  thing,"  the  robin  said, 

"  I  think  you  must  be  crazy ; 
I'd  rather  be  my  honest  self 

Than  any  made-up  daisy. 

"  You're  nicer  in  your  own  bright  gown ; 

The  little  children  love  you ; 
Be  the  best  buttercup  you  can, 

And  think  no  flower  above  you. 

"  Though  swallows  leave  me  out  of  sight, 

We'd  better  keep  our  places. 
Perhaps  the  world  would  all  go  wrong, 

With  one  too  many  daisies. 

"  Look  bravely  up  into  the  sky, 

And  be  content  with  knowing 
That  God  wished  for  a  buttercup 

Just  here,  where  you  are  growing." 

—  Susan  Coolidge. 


130  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

GREAT-GRANDMOTHER'S    GARDEN. 

COME  into  great-grandmother's  garden,  my  dears, 
The  Sunflowers  are  nodding  and  beckoning  away, 
The  Balsams  are  smilingly  drying  their  tears, 
And  fair  Morning-glories  are  greeting  the  day. 

How  pure  is  the  breath  of  the  old-fashioned  Pinks ! 

How  modest  the  face  of  the  Lady's  Delight ! 
Sweet  William  his  arm  with  Miss  Lavender's  links, 

And  whispers,  "  I  dream  of  you  morn,  noon,  and  night." 

The  Dahlia  looks  on  with  a  queenly  repose, 
Unheeding  the  Coxcomb's  impertinent  sighs, 

And  fierce  Tiger-lily  an  angry  look  throws 
At  Bachelor's  Button,  who  praises  her  eyes. 

The  red  Prince's  Feather  waves  heavy  and  slow 
By  Marigolds  rich  as  the  crown  of  a  king ; 

The  Larkspur  the  humming-bird  sways  to  and  fro  ; 
Above  them  the  Hollyhocks  lazily  swing. 

Come,  Four-o-clocks,  wake  from  your  long  morning  nap  ! 

The  late  China  Asters  will  soon  be  astir ; 
The  Sweet  Pea  has  ordered  a  simple  green  cap  — 

Which  the  Poppy  considers  too  common  for  her. 

There's  Southernwood,  Saffron,  and  long  Striped  Grass ; 

The  pale  Thimbleberries,  the  Sweet-brier  brush ; 
An  odor  of  Catnip  floats  by  as  we  pass  — 

Be  careful !  nor  grandmamma's  Chamomile  crush. 

Come  into  great-grandmother's  garden,  my  dears  ; 

The  Sunflowers  are  nodding  and  beckoning  away  — 
The  real  grandma's  garden  is  gone  years  and  years,  — 

We  have  only  a  make-believe  garden  to-day. 

—  M.  y.  Jacques— St.  Nicholas \ 


SONGS   OF  SUMMER.  131 


THE   POPPY. 

HIGH  on  a  bright  and  sunny  bed 
A  scarlet  poppy  grew  ; 
And  up  it  held  its  staring  head, 
And  thrust  it  full  in  view. 

Yet  no  attention  did  it  win 
By  all  these  efforts  made, 

And  less  unwelcome  had  it  been 
In  some  retired  shade. 

For  though  within  its  scarlet  breast 
No  sweet  perfume  was  found, 

It  seemed  to  think  itself  the  best 
Of  all  the  flowers  around. 

From  this  I  may  a  hint  obtain, 
And  take  great  care  indeed, 

Lest  I  appear  as  pert  and  vain 
As  is  this  gaudy  weed. 


Jane  Taylor. 


£<K< 


CHORUS    OF   THE    FLOWERS. 

I  AM  the  honeysuckle, 
With  my  drooping  head, 
And  early  in  the  springtime 

I  don  my  dress  of  red. 
I  grow  in  quiet  woodlands, 

Beneath  some  budding  tree  ; 
So  when  you  take  a  ramble 
Just  look  at  me. 


132  NATURE   IN  VERSE. 

I  am  the  dandelion, 

Yellow,  as  you  see, 
And  when  the  children  see  me 

They  shout  for  glee. 
I  grow  by  every  wayside, 

And  when  I've  had  my  day 
I  spread  my  wings  so  silvery 

And  fly  away. 

When  God  made  all  the  flowers 

He  gave  each  one  a  name ; 
And  when  the  others  all  had  gone 

A  little  blue  one  came, 
And  said,  in  trembling  whisper, 

"  My  name  has  been  forgot," 
Then  the  good  Father  called  her 

Forget-me-not. 

A  fern  the  people  call  me, 

I'm  always  clothed  in  green ; 
I  live  in  every  forest  — 

You've  seen  me  oft,  I  ween. 
Sometimes  I  leave  the  shadow 

To  grow  beside  the  way ; 
You'll  see  me  as  you  pass 

Some  nice  fine  day. 

I  am  the  gay  nasturtium, 

I  bloom  in  gardens  fine ; 
Among  the  grander  flowers 

My  slender  stalk  I  twine. 
Bright  orange  is  my  color 

The  eyes  of  all  to  please. 
I  have  a  tube  of  honey 

For  all  the  bees. 


SONGS   OF  SUMMER.  133 

I  am  the  little  violet 

In  my  purple  dress ; 
I  hide  myself  so  safely 

That  you'd  never  guess 
There  was  a  flower  so  near  you, 

Nestling  at  your  feet ; 

And  that  is  why  I  send  you 

My  fragrance  sweet. 

—  Lucy  Wheelock. 


3*KC 


FASHIONS  AT  THE  COURT  OF  QUEEN  FLORA. 

" /^VH,  pray,  do  you  know  of  those  wonderful  styles 

V^     To  be  worn  with  the  sweetest  and  rarest  of  smiles, 
At  Queen  Flora's  court,  at  receptions  in  spring, 
When  each  one  comes  out  in  the  latest  new  thing  ? 
The  modiste  who  designs  all  these  beautiful  things 
Is  called  Fairy  Nature,  and  her  artists  she  brings 
From  the  north  and  the  south,  and  the  east  and  the  west, 
And  selects  from  all  of  their  works  what  is  best. 

"  Of  her  artists  the  greatest  is  named  Mr.  Sun, 

His  lights  and  his  shadows  can  be  equaled  by  none ; 

And  his  palette  of  colors,  in  rainbows  and  flowers, 

And  bright  sunset  clouds  and  the  fragrant  rose-bowers, 

Have  bewildered  and  baffled  all  mortals  who  tried 

To  copy  his  work,  but  at  failure  have  sighed. 

This  artist  provides  cloth-of-gold  for  the  queen ; 

And  from  dewdrops,  makes  diamonds,  or  emeralds  green. 


134  NATURE   IN  VERSE. 

"  In  green  satin  tunics  the  Grasses  appear, 

While  the  Leaves  change  their  robes  several  times  in  the 

year; 
In  the  spring  they  wear  shades  of  most  delicate  green, 
But  in  autumn  in  crimson  and  yellows  are  seen. 
The  first  little  Snowdrops  are  wrapped  in  white  down,  ■ 
While  the  Crocus  sprite  ventures  forth  in  a  silk  gown. 
But  the  Tulips  wear  mantles  of  purple  and  gold, 
Over  robes  of  rich  crimson,  as  the  air  is  still  cold. 

"  Pale  mauve,  or  soft  pink,  is  the  Hyacinth's  shade, 
In  the  shape  of  a  bell  is  her  graceful  skirt  made, 
With  a  girdle  of  green,  and  a  hat  of  pale  rose, 
She's  in  truth  quite  a  belle  at  the  court,  I  suppose. 
Rich,  purple-hued  velvets  the  Pansy  maids  wear 
While  cunning  caps  rest  on  their  long  yellow  hair. 
The  tall  graceful  Lilies  are  dressed  all  in  white, 
With  crowns  of  pure  gold,  most  dazzlingly  bright. 

"  Miss  Daisy  wears  bodice  of  gold-colored  silk, 
And  skirts  slashed  in  points  of  gauze  white  as  milk, 
And  sash  of  brown  velvet  with  cap  of  the  same, 
In  truth  —  a  dear  daisy  —  in  looks  as  in  name. 
In  bright  scarlet  gowns  all  the  Poppies  appear, 
With  pale  green-colored  hose,  and  bonnets  so  queer ! 
They  nod  their  small  heads  with  expression  so  wise  — 
It   would   seem    to    be   thought  —  but   for   sleep   in   their 
eyes. 

"  At  summer  receptions  the  Rose  sprites  appear, 
Soft  satins,  pink,  white,  or  gold-colored  they  wear, 
With  bodices  trimmed  with  pink  moss  buds  and  leaves, 
And  mantles  of  bright  light  that  Mr.  Sun  weaves. 


SONGS   OF  SUMMER.  135 

The  Forget-me-nots  dance  in  robes  of  pale  blue, 
And  the  Violets  and  Blue-bells  wear  this  color  too, 
While  the  dear  little  Clover  sprites  in  pink  or  white, 
Play  hide-and-seek  with  each  other  in  shadow  or  light. 

"  When  dust  soils  these  toilets,  lest  their  beauty  should  wane,. 

They  are  freshened  and  cleaned  by  one  Mr.  Rain ; 

And  at  evening  receptions  an  artist  most  rare, 

By  name,  a  Miss  Moonlight,  arranges  with  care 

And  with  marvelous  skill  all  the  costumes  so  bright ; 

And  in  her  work  both  mortals  and  fairies  delight ; 

For  she  softens  gay  colors  and  fair  faces  too, 

And  can  sometimes  make  old  things  appear  almost  new. 

"  There  are  rich  gallant  lords,  and  fair  ladies,  of  course, 
At  Queen  Flora's  court ;  and  a  well-ordered  force 
Of  uniformed  troops  —  the  Oaks  and  the  Pines  — 
Who  guard  her  dominions  so  rich  in  rare  mines. 
The  Pines  wear  green  uniforms  all  days  in  the  year, 
But  the  Oaks  and  the  Maples  in  gay  colors  appear 
At  the  autumn  receptions,  so  brilliant  and  grand, 
Ere  King  Winter  has  driven  them  out  of  the  land." 

—  Lydia  Hoyt  Farmer. 


>*K< 


WHO   WAS    SHE? 

I  WAS  going  down  the  walk, 
So  pleasant,  cool,  and  shady; 
Right  in  the  middle  of  the  path 
I  met  a  little  lady. 


r56  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

I  made  to  her  my  sweetest  bow ; 

She  only  walked  on  faster. 
I  smiled,  and  said  "  Good-morning,  ma'am  !  " 

The  moment  that  I  passed  her. 

V. 

She  never  noticed  me  at  all ; 

I  really  felt  quite  slighted. 
I  thought,  "  I'll  follow  you,  I  will, 

Altho'  I'm  not  invited." 

Perhaps  you  think  me  very  rude ; 

But  then,  she  looked  so  funny — - 
From  head  to  foot  all  dressed  in  fur, 

This  summer  day  so  sunny. 

She  didn't  mind  the  heat  at  all, 
But  wrapped  the  fur  around  her, 

And  hurried  on,  as  if  to  say, 

"  I'll  'tend  to  my  own  gown,  sir !  " 

I  followed  her  the  whole  way  home ; 

Her  home  was  in  my  garden, 
Beneath  my  choicest  vines  —  and  yet, 

She  never  asked  my  pardon. 

I  never  heard  her  speak  a  word  ; 

But  once  I  heard  the  miller, 
Coming  down  the  sidewalk,  say, 

"There  goes  Miss  Caterpillar!  " 


Selected. 


SONGS   OF  SUMMER.  137 


THE   BUTTERFLY. 

OUT  in  the  garden  wee  Elsie 
Was  gathering  flowers  for  me ; 
"  O  mamma  !  "  she  cried,  "  hurry,  hurry ! 

Here's  something  I  want  you  to  see." 
I  went  to  the  window ;  before  her 

A  velvet-winged  butterfly  flew, 
And  the  pansies  themselves  were  not  brighter 
Than  the  beautiful  creature  in  hue. 

"  Oh  !  isn't  it  pretty  !  "  cried  Elsie, 

With  eager  and  wondering  eyes, 
As  she  watched  it  soar  lazily  upward 

Against  the  soft  blue  of  the  skies. 
"  I  know  what  it  is,  don't  you,  mamma  ?  "  — 

Oh  !  the  burden  of  these  little  things 

When  the  soul  of  a  poet  is  in  them  — 

"It's  a  pansy  —  a  pansy  with  wings." 

—  Selected. 

THE    BUTTERFLY'S    LESSON. 

THE  lilies  were  swinging  their  fair,  white  bells, 
In  the  languid  heat  of  the  noon, 
When  Golden-wing  stopped  for  a  sip  of  dew, 
One  beautiful  day  in  June. 

Around  lay  the  gardens,  as  fair  as  a  rose, 

With  blossoms  of  brightest  dyes ; 
Above  in  the  tree-tops  so  tall  and  green, 

Was  the  home  of  the  birds  near  the  skies. 


138  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

And  Golden-wing  thought  if  he  only  might  live 
On  that  wind-blown,  swaying  bough, 

He  would  give  up  his  lilies  and  honey  and  dew, 
And  be  happier,  far,  than  now. 

v.- 

So  he  fluttered  his  dainty,  golden  wings 

And  sprang  on  a  passing  breeze, 
And  floated  up  with  a  swelling  heart, 

To  the  home  of  the  birds  in  the  trees. 

The  journey  was  long,  he  grew  weary  and  faint, 
The  most  of  his  strength  was  spent ; 

But  still  he  pressed  up  to  the  nest  in  the  trees, 
Urged  on  by  his  discontent. 

He  reached  it  at  last,  the  pretty,  cool  nest, 
Where  the  young  birds  were  learning  to  sing ; 

But  he  was  not  there  long,  for  a  greedy  young  bird 
Caught  sight  of  poor  Golden-wing. 

The  birds  all  came  rushing  in  hot  pursuit, 

And  Golden-wing,  faint  with  fear, 
Wished  in  his  trembling,  foolish  heart, 

That  the  garden  were  only  near. 

And  at  length,  when  he  reached  it,  the  garden  fair, 

And  hid  in  his  lily  home, 
He  vowed  to  be  more  contented  henceforth, 

And  never  again  to  roam. 

And  he  learned  the  lesson  we  all  must  heed, 

Whether  or  not  we  please, 

That  those  who  are  made  for  the  lily  bells, 

Can  never  find  homes  in  the  trees. 

—  Selected. 


SONGS    OF   SUMMER.  139 


THE   GRASSHOPPER. 

A  GRASSHOPPER  sat  in  an  oak  tree  green. 
Mending  the  shoes  of  the  fairy  queen, 
For  he  was  a  cobbler  of  all  the  fays, 
Yellows  and  purples  and  greens  and  grays ; 
A  happy  old  fellow  and  merry  was  he 
As  he  sat  on  the  limb  of  the  old  oak  tree ; 
Oh,  merry  and  bold  and  ever  so  old, 
As  I  heard  one  day  when  this  story  was  told ! 

A  bobolink  skirmishing  over  the  way, 

Called  to  the  grasshopper,  "  Sir,  good-day  !  " 

And  the  grasshopper  cobbling  still  at  his  shoe, 

Answered  politely,  "  The  same  to  you  !  " 

And  nodded  his  head  with  a  little  bow, 

Though  I  couldn't  exactly  tell  you  how ; 

For  the  prince  of  good  manners  —  the  grasshopper — he, 

As  he  cobbled  away  in  his  old  oak  tree ! 

"  How  much  do  you  make  by  the  day  and  the  week  ? " 
The  bobolink  asked  with  a  flirt  and  a  shriek ; 
"Three  golden  leaves  of  the  buttercup's  flower  — 
Three  crystal  drops  from  the  latest  shower ; 
Three  sacks  of  meal  from  the  pollen's  best 
That  the  elves  shake  off  from  the  cowslip's  breast ; 
And  that  doth  keep  me  both  well  and  good  — 
For  I'm  the  boss  cobbler  of  all  the  wood  !  " 

A  barefoot  boy,  as  he  came  along, 
Had  loitered  to  list  to  the  bobolink's  song, 
And  shy  a  stone,  as  well  as  he  could, 
At  the  little  boss  cobbler  of  all  the  wood ; 


140  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

"  You  cobble  a  shoe  !  "  he  cried  as  he  laughed, 
"  You're  the  funniest  cobbler  of  all  your  craft ; 
Why,  your  leather's  a  leaf,  and  your  paste  —  it  is  dew ! 
Oh,  what  a  cobbler  to  cobble  a  shoe !  " 

But  the  bobolink  answered  with  honest  wrath, 
As  he  peered  at  the  boy  in  the  woodland  path, 
"  Each  one  is  wisest  and  skillfulest,  too, 
That  knows  just  the  work  that  he  has  to  do ; 
For  elfin  feet  those  slippers  are  best, 
That  are  made  from  the  tiniest  leaflet's  vest ; 
While  Nature's  leather  seems  fitted  for  you, 
As  you  wear  it  still !  "     And  away  he  flew. 

—  Independent. 


:>XKc 


THE   SONG   OF   THE   BEE. 

BUZZ!  buzz!  buzz! 
This  is  the  song  of  the  bee. 
His  legs  are  of  yellow ; 
A  jolly,  good  fellow, 

And  yet  a  great  worker  is  he. 

In  days  that  are  sunny 
He's  getting  his  honey  ; 
In  days  that  are  cloudy 

He's  making  his  wax  : 
On  pinks  and  on  lilies, 
And  gay  daffodillies, 
And  columbine  blossoms, 

He  levies  a  tax  ! 


SONGS   OF  SUMMER.  141 

Buzz  !   buzz  !  buzz  ! 
The  sweet-smelling  clover, 
He,  humming,  hangs  over; 
The  scent  of  the  roses 

Makes  fragrant  his  wings  : 
He  never  gets  lazy ; 
From  thistle  and  daisy, 
And  weeds  of  the  meadow, 

Some  treasure  he  brings. 

Buzz  !  buzz  !  buzz  ! 
From  morning's  first  light 
Till  the  coming  of  night, 
He's  singing  and  toiling 

The  summer  day  through. 
Oh  !  we  may  get  weary, 
And  think  work  is  dreary ; 
'Tis  harder  by  far 

To  have  nothing  to  do. 

—  Marian  Douglass. 


THE    BUSY    BEE. 


HOW  doth  the  little  busy  bee 
Improve  each  shining  hour, 
And  gather  honey  all  the  day 
From  every  opening  flower  ! 

How  skillfully  she  builds  her  cell, 
How  neat  she  spreads  the  wax ! 

And  labors  hard  to  store  it  well 
With  the  sweet  food  she  makes. 


L\l  NA  TURE  IN  VERSE. 

In  works  of  labor  or  of  skill, 

I  would  be  busy,  too ; 
For  Satan  finds  some  mischief  still 

For  idle  hands  to  do. 

j-. 

In  books,  or  work,  or  healthful  play, 

Let  my  first  years  be  past, 
That  I  may  give  for  every  day 


Some  good  account  at  last. 


>x*;c 


THE    MOCKING-BIRD'S    SONG. 

EARLY  on  a  pleasant  day, 
In  the  poet's  month  of  May 
Field  and  forest  looked  so  fair, 
So  refreshing  was  the  air, 
That  in  spite  of  morning  dew, 
Forth  I  walked  where  tangling  grew 
Many  a  thorn  and  breezy  bush  ; 
When  the  redbreast  and  the  thrush 
Gayly  raised  their  early  lay, 
Thankful  for  returning  day. 

Every  thicket,  bush,  and  tree 
Swelled  with  grateful  harmony ; 
As  it  mildly  swept  along, 
Echo  seemed  to  catch  the  song ; 
But  the  plain  was  wide  and  clear  — 
Echo  never  whispered  near  ; 
From  a  neighboring  mocking-bird 
Came  the  answering  notes  I  heard. 


Isaac  Watts 


SONGS   OF  SUMMER.  143 

Soft  and  low  the  song  began  — 
I  scarcely  caught  it  as  it  ran 
Through  the  melancholy  trill 
Of  the  plaintive  whip-poor-will; 
Through  the  ring-dove's  gentle  wail, 
Chattering  jay  and  whistling  quail, 
Sparrow's  twitter,  catbird's  cry, 
Redbreast's  whistle,  robin's  sigh  ; 
Blackbird,  bluebird,  swallow,  lark, 
Each  his  native  note  might  mark. 

Oft  he  tried  the  lesson  o'er, 
Each  time  louder  than  before  ; 
Burst  at  length  the  finished  song, 
Loud  and  clear  it  poured  along ; 
All  the  choir  in  silence  heard, 
Hushed  before  this  wondrous  bird. 
All  transported  and  amazed, 
Scarcely  breathing,  long  I  gazed. 

Now  it  reached  the  loudest  swell ; 

Lower,  lower,  now  it  fell, 

Lower,  lower,  lower  still, 

Scarce  it  sounded  o'er  the  rill, 

Now  the  warbler  ceased  to  sing ; 

Then  he  spread  his  russet  wing, 

And  I  saw  him  take  his  flight, 

Other  regions  to  delight. 

— J.  R.  Drake. 


$ 


144  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 


SUPPOSE. 

HOW  dreary  would  the  meadows  be 
In  the  pleasant  summer  light, 
Suppose  there  wasn't  a  bird  to  sing, 
And  suppose  the  grass  was  white ! 

And  dreary  would  the  garden  be 

With  all  its  flowery  trees, 
Suppose  there  were  no  butterflies, 

And  suppose  there  were  no  bees. 

And  what  would  all  the  beauty  be, 

And  what  the  song  that  cheers, 
Suppose  we  hadn't  any  eyes, 

And  suppose  we  hadn't  ears  ? 

For  though  the  grass  were  gay  and  green, 

And  song-birds  filled  the  glen, 
And  the  air  were  purple  with  butterflies, 

What  good  would  they  do,  then  ? 

Ah,  think  of  it,  my  little  friends, 

And  when  some  pleasure  flies, 

Why,  let  it  go,  and  still  be  glad 

That  you  have  your  ears  and  eyes. 

—  Alice  Cary, 

OUT-OF-DOOR   ARITHMETIC. 

ADD  bright  buds,  and  sun  and  flowers, 
New  green  leaves,  and  fitful  showers 
To  a  bare  world,  and  the  sum 
Of  the  whole,  to  spring  will  come. 


SONGS   OF  SUMMER.  145 

Multiply  these  leaves  by  more, 
And  the  flowers  by  a  score, 
The  result,  if  found  aright, 
Will  be  summer,  long  and  bright. 

Then  divide  the  flowers,  and  soon 
By  gray  clouds  and  storms  begun, 
And  the  quotient  sure  will  be 
Autumn  over  land  and  sea. 

From  this,  then,  subtract  the  red 

Of  the  leaves  up  overhead. 

Also  every  flower  in  sight, 

And  you've  winter,  cold  and  bright. 

—  Selected. 


tt< 


LETTING   THE   OLD    CAT    DIE. 

NOT  long  ago  I  wandered  near 
A  playground  in  the  wood ; 
And  there  heard  words  from  a  youngster's  lips 
That  I  never  quite  understood. 

"  Now  let  the  old  cat  die  !  "  he  laughed. 

I  saw  him  give  a  push, 
Then  gayly  scamper  away  as  he  spied 

A  face  peep  over  the  bush. 

But  what  he  pushed,  or  where  he  went, 

I  could  not  well  make  out, 
On  account  of  the  thicket  of  bending  boughs 

That  bordered  the  place  about. 


146  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

"  The  little  villain  has  stoned  a  cat, 

Or  hung  it  upon  a  limb, 
And  left  it  to  die  all  alone,"  I  said ; 

"  But  I'll  play  the  mischief  with  him." 

I  forced  my  way  through  the  bending  boughs 

The  poor  old  cat  to  seek  ; 
But  what  did  I  find  but  a  swinging  child, 

With  her  bright  hair  brushing  her  cheek ! 

Her  bright  hair  floated  to  and  fro, 
Her  little  red  dress  flashed  by ; 

But  the  loveliest  thing  of  all,  I  thought, 
Was  the  gleam  of  her  laughing  eye. 

Swinging  and  swinging,  back  and  forth, 
With  the  rose-light  in  her  face, 

She  seemed  like  a  bird  and  flower  in  one, 
And  the  forest  her  native  place. 

"  Steady!  I'll  send  you  up,  my  child  ;  " 
But  she  stopped  me  with  a  cry,  — 

"  Go  'way,  go  'way !  don't  touch  me,  please ; 
I'm  letting  the  old  cat  die." 

"  You're  letting  him  die  !  "  I  cried  aghast ; 

"  Why,  where's  the  cat,  my  dear  ?  " 
And,  lo  !  the  laugh  that  filled  the  wood 

Was  a  thing  for  the  birds  to  hear. 

"  Why,  don't  you  know,"  said  the  little  maid, 
The  sparkling,  beautiful  elf,  — 

"  That  we  call  it  letting  the  old  cat  die 
When  the  swing  stops  all  itself  ?  " 


SONGS   OF  SUMMER.  147 

Then,  swinging  and  swinging  and  looking  back 

With  the  merriest  look  in  her  eye, 

She  bade  me  good-bye,  and  I  left  her  alone, 

Letting  the  old  cat  die. 

—  Selected. 

THE    SPIDER   AND   THE    FLY. 

"\~\  71 LL  you  walk  into  my  parlor?" 

V  V        Said  a  spider  to  a  fly ; 
"  'Tis  the  prettiest  little  parlor 

That  ever  you  .did  spy. 
The  way  into  my  parlor 

Is  up  a  winding  stair, 
And  I  have  many  pretty  things 

To  show  you  when  you're  there." 
"  O  no,  no,"  said  the  little  fly, 

"  To  ask  me  is  in  vain  ; 
For  who  goes  up  your  winding  stair 

Can  ne'er  come  down  again." 

"  I'm  sure  you  must  be  weary 

With  soaring  up  so  high ; 
Will  you  rest  upon  my  little  bed  ? " 

Said  the  spider  to  the  fly. 
"  There  are  pretty  curtains  drawn  around  ; 

The  sheets  are  fine  and  thin ; 
And  if  you  like  to  rest  awhile, 

I'll  snugly  tuck  you  in." 
"  O  no,  no,"  said  the  little  fly, 

"  For  I've  often  heard  it  said 
They  never,  never  wake  again, 

Who  sleep  upon  your  bed." 


148  NATURE  IN   VERSE. 

Said  the  cunning  spider  to  the  fly, 

"  Dear  friend,  what  shall  I  do 
To  prove  the  warm  affection 

I've  always  felt  for  you  ? 
I  have,  within  my  pantry, 

Good  store  of  all  that's  nice ; 
I'm  sure  you're  very  welcome  — 

Will  you  please  to  take  a  slice  ?  " 
"  O  no,  no,"  said  the  little  fly, 

"  Kind  sir,  that  cannot  be ; 
I've  heard  what's  in  your  pantry, 

And  I  do  not  wish  to  see." 

"  Sweet  creature,"  said  the  spider, 

"  You're  witty  and  you're  wise  ; 
How  handsome  are  your  gauzy  wings, 

How  brilliant  are  your  eyes. 
I  have  a  little  looking-glass 

Upon  my  parlor  shelf ; 
If  you'll  step  in  one  moment,  dear, 

You  shall  behold  yourself." 
"  I  thank  you,  gentle  sir,"  she  said, 

"  For  what  you're  pleased  to  say, 
And  bidding  you  good-morning  now, 

I'll  call  another  day." 

The  spider  turned  him  round  about, 

And  went  into  his  den, 
For  well  he  knew  the  silly  fly 

Would  soon  be  back  again ; 
So  he  wove  a  subtle  web 

In  a  little  corner  sly, 
And  set  his  table  ready 

To  dine  upon  the  fly. 


SONGS    OF  SUMMER.  149 

He  went  out  to  his  door  again, 

And  merrily  did  sing, 
"  Come  hither,  hither,  pretty  fly, 

With  pearl  and  silver  wing ; 
Your  robes  are  green  and  purple, 

There's  a  crest  upon  your  head ; 
Your  eyes  are  like  the  diamond  bright, 

But  mine  are  dull  as  lead." 

Alas,  alas  !  how  very  soon 

This  silly  little  fly, 
Hearing  his  wily,  flattering  words, 

Came  slowly  flitting  by ; 
With  buzzing  wings  she  hung  aloft, 

Then  near  and  nearer  drew  — 
Thought  only  of  her  brilliant  eyes, 

And  green  and  purple  hue ; 
Thought  only  of  her  crested  head  — 

Poor  foolish  thing  !     At  last 
Up  jumped  the  cunning  spider, 

And  fiercely  held  her  fast. 

He  dragged  her  up  his  winding  stair, 

Into  his  dismal  den 
Within  his  little  parlor  —  but 

She  ne'er  came  out  again  ! 
And  now,  dear  little  children 

Who  may  this  story  read, 
To  idle,  silly,  flattering  words, 

I  pray  you,  ne'er  give  heed. 
Unto  an  evil  counselor 

Close  heart  and  ear  and  eye  ; 

And  take  a  lesson  from  this  tale 

Of  the  spider  and  the  fly. 

—  Mary  Howitt. 


150  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 


O    LARK    OF   THE   SUMMER    MORNING. 

I   LOVE  to  lie  in  the  clover, 
With  the  lark  like  a  speck  in  the  sky, 
While  its  small,  sweet  throat  runneth  over 
With  praise  it  sendeth  on  high. 

0  lark  of  the  summer  morning, 

Teach,  teach  me  the  song  that  you  sing, 

1  would  learn  without  lightness  or  scorning, 
To  give  praise  for  every  good  thing. 

O  lark  of  the  summer  morning ! 

Give,  give  me  of  praying  the  key, 
And  I'll  learn  without  lightness  or  scorning 

As  I  did  at  my  own  mother's  knee. 

—  From  the  Japanese. 


>*K< 


THE   PEACOCK. 

COME,  come,  Mister  Peacock,  you  must  not  be  proud, 
Although  you  can  boast  such  a  train  ; 
For  many  a  bird  far  more  highly  endowed 
Is  not  half  so  conceited  and  vain. 

Let  me  tell  you,  gay  bird,  that  a  suit  of  fine  clothes 

Is  a  sorry  distinction  at  most, 
And  seldom  much  valued,  excepting  by  those 

Who  such  graces  only  can  boast. 


SONGS   OF  SUMMER.  151 

The  nightingale  certainly  wears  a  plain  coat, 
But  she  cheers  and  delights  with  her  song ; 

While  you,  though  so  vain,  cannot  utter  a  note 
To  please  by  the  use  of  your  tongue. 

The  hawk  cannot  boast  of  a  plumage  so  gay, 

But  piercing  and  clear  is  her  eye ; 
And  while  you  are  strutting  about  all  the  day, 

She  gallantly  soars  in  the  sky. 

The  dove  may  be  clad  in  a  plainer  attire, 

But  she  is  not  so  selfish  and  cold; 
And  her  love  and  affection  more  pleasure  inspire, 

Than  all  your  fine  purple  and  gold. 

So  you  see,  Mister  Peacock,  you  must  not  be  proud, 

Although  you  can  boast  such  a  train  ; 
For  many  a  bird  is  more  highly  endowed, 

And  not  half  so  conceited  and  vain. 

—  Songs  for  the  Little  Ones  at  Home. 


£*Jc 


NURSERY   SONG. 

AS  I  walked  over  the  hill  one  day, 
I  listened,  and  heard  a  mother-sheep  say, 
"  In  all  the  green  world  there  is  nothing  so  sweet 
As  my  little  lammie,  with  his  nimble  feet ; 
With  his  eyes  so  bright, 
And  his  wool  so  white, 
Oh !  he  is  my  darling,  my  heart's  delight," 


i52  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

And  the  mother-sheep  and  her  little  one 
Side  by  side  lay  down  in  the  sun ; 
And  they  went  to  sleep  on  the  hillside  warm, 
While  my  little  lammie  lies  here  on  my  arm. 


I  went  to  the  kitchen,  and  what  did  I  see 

But  the  old  gray  cat  with  her  kittens  three ! 

I  heard  her  whispering  soft ;  said  she, 

"  My  kittens,  with  tails  so  cunningly  curled, 

Are  the  prettiest  things  that  can  be  in  the  world. 

The  bird  on  the  tree, 

And  the  old  ewe  —  she, 

May  love  their  babies  exceedingly, 

But  I  love  my  kittens  there, 

Under  the  rocking  chair. 
I  love  my  kittens  with  all  my  might, 
I  love  them  at  morning,  noon,  and  night, 
Now  I'll  take  up  my  kitties,  the  kitties  I  love, 
And  we'll  lie  down  together  beneath  the  warm  stove." 
Let  the  kittens  sleep  under  the  stove  so  warm, 
While  my  little  darling  lies  here  on  my  arm. 


I  went  to  the  yard,  and  I  saw  the  old  hen 

Go  clucking  about  with  her  chickens  ten  ; 

She  clucked  and  she  scratched  and  she  bustled  away, 

And  what  do  you  think  I  heard  the  hen  say  ? 

I  heard  her  say,  "  The  sun  never  did  shine 

On  anything  like  to  these  chickens  of  mine ! 

You  may  hunt  the  full  moon  and  the  stars  if  you  please, 

But  you  never  will  find  ten  such  chickens  as  these ; 

My  dear  downy  darlings,  my  sweet  little  things, 

Come,  nestle  now  cosily  under  my  wings." 


SONGS   OF  SUMMER.  153 

So  the  hen  said, 

And  the  chickens  all  sped, 
As  fast  as  they  could,  to  their  nice  feather  bed, 
And  there  let  them  sleep  in  their  feathers  so  warm, 
While  my  little  chick  lies  here  on  my  arm. 

—  Mrs.  Carter. 


IN   THE   SWING. 

HERE  we  go  to  the  branches  high ! 
Here  we  come  to  the  grasses  low  ! 
For  the  spiders  and  flowers  and  birds  and  I 

Love  to  swing  when  the  breezes  blow. 
Swing,  little  bird,  on  the  topmost  bough; 
Swing,  little  spider,  with  rope  so  fine; 
Swing,  little  flower,  for  the  wind  blows  now, 
But  none  of  you  have  such  a  swing  as  mine. 

Dear  little  bird,  come  sit  on  my  toes; 

I'm  just  as  careful  as  I  can  be ; 
And  oh,  I  tell  you,  nobody  knows 

What  fun  we'd  have  if  you'd  play  with  me  ! 
Come  and  swing  with  me,  birdie  dear, 

Bright  little  flower,  come  swing  in  my  hair ; 
But  you,  little  spider,  creepy  and  queer,  — 

You'd  better  stay  and  swing  over  there ! 

The  sweet  little  bird,  he  sings  and  sings, 
But  he  doesn't  even  look  in  my  face ; 

The  bright  little  blossom  swings  and  swings, 
But  still  it  swings  in  the  self-same  place. 


*54  .  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

Let  them  stay  where  they  like  it  best; 

Let  them  do  what  they'd  rather  do ; 
My  swing  is  nicer  than  all  the  rest, 

But  maybe  it's  rather  small  for  two. 

(c 

Here  we  go  to  the  branches  high  ! 

Here  we  come  to  the  grasses  low! 
For  the  spiders  and  flowers  and  birds  and  I 

Love  to  swing  when  the  breezes  blow. 
Swing,  little  bird,  on  the  topmost  bough ; 

Swing,  little  spider,  with  rope  so  fine  ; 
Swing  little  flower,  for  the  wind  blows  now ; 

But  none  of  you  have  such  a  swing  as  mine. 

—  Eudora  S.  Bumstead  —  St.  Nicholas. 


>>©<< 


GOOD-NIGHT   AND    GOOD-MORNING. 

A  FAIR  little  girl  sat  under  a  tree, 
Sewing  as  long  as  her  eyes  could  see ; 
Then  smoothed  her  work  and  folded  it  right, 
And  said,  —  "  Dear  work,  good-night,  good-night !  " 

Such  a  number  of  crows  came  over  her  head, 
Crying  "  Caw,  caw  !  "  on  their  way  to  bed, 
She  said,  as  she  watched  their  curious  flight, 
"  Little  black  things,  good-night,  good-night !  " 

The  horses  neighed,  and  the  oxen  lowed, 

The  sheep's  "  Bleat,  bleat  !  "  came  over  the  road  ; 

All  seeming  to  say,  with  a  quiet  delight, 

"  Good  little  girl,  good-night,  good-night !  " 


SONGS   OF  SUMMER.  155 

She  did  not  say  to  the  sun,  "  Good-night !  " 
Though  she  saw  him  there  like  a  ball  of  light ; 
For  she  knew  he  had  God's  time  to  keep 
All  over  the  world,  and  never  could  sleep. 

The  tall,  pink  fox-glove  bowed  his  head ; 
The  violets  curtsied,  and  went  to  bed  ; 
And  good  little  Lucy  tied  up  her  hair, 
And  said,  on  her  knees,  her  favorite  prayer. 

And,  while  on  her  pillow  she  softly  lay, 
She  knew  nothing  more  till  again  it  was  day ; 
And  all  things  said  to  the  beautiful  sun, 
"  Good-morning,  good-morning  ;  our  work  is  begun  !  " 

—  Lord  Houghton. 


>>*:< 


THE    BANK-SWALLOWS. 

IN  a  village  of  Bank-Swallows 
You  will  find  so  many  a  nest, 
"  That  you  scarce  can  tell  their  number 
Nor  which  one  of  them  is  best." 

In  the  sand-hill,  see  the  openings, 
Round  or  oval,  odd-shaped,  some, 

Size  and  form  depending,  often, 
On  how  loose  the  sands  become. 

When  with  their  short  bills  they  pecked  it, 
Clinging  fast  with  claws  the  while, 

Till  they  made  an  open  doorway 
Suiting  them  in  size  and  style. 


156  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

Once  within,  they  peck  and  peck  it,  — 

Sometimes  quite  a  yard  or  more, 

While  the  nest  is  snugly  builded, 

Farthest  from  the  outer  door. 
«•. 

But,  so  wise  are  they,  this  archway, 

From  the  entrance  to  the  nest, 
Is  inclining  ever  upward, 

That  no  rain  within  may  rest. 

So  the  pink-white  eggs  are  laid  there, 

Safe  from  harm,  till  baby-birds 
Chirrup  forth  to  take  their  places, 

'Mongst  the  self-sustaining  herds. 

Parent-birds  care  less  for  young  ones, 
Than  do  other  swallow-kind  ;  — 

Push  them  off  half-fledged  and  timid, 
Each  his  food  and  home  to  find. 

Thus  they,  many  a  time,  fall  prey  to 

Hawks  and  crows,  —  their  enemies  ;  — 
Even  the  nest  sometimes  is  entered 
By  the  snakes  and  fleas  and  flies. 

Swallows  migrate  in  the  winter, 

From  the  cold  to  warmer  climes,  — 

Flying  back  as  spring  approaches, 
To  the  haunts  of  former  times. 

"  Ne'er  one  swallow  makes  a  summer," 

Is  a  saying  everywhere ; 
But  when  swallows  come  in  myriads, 

Blessed  summer-time  is  here. 

—  Selected. 


SONGS   OF  SUMMER.  157 


THREE    O'CLOCK    IN    THE    MORNING. 

WHAT  do  the  robins  whisper  about 
From  their  homes  in  the  elms  and  birches  ? 
I've  tried  to  study  the  riddle  out, 
But  still  in  my  mind  is  many  a  doubt, 
In  spite  of  deep  researches. 

While  over  the  world  is  silence  deep, 

In  the  twilight  of  early  dawning, 
They  begin  to  chirp  and  twitter  and  peep, 
As  if  they  were  talking  in  their  sleep, 

At  three  o'clock  in  the  morning. 

Perhaps  the  little  ones  stir  and  complain 

That  it's  time  to  be  up  and  doing ; 
And  the  mother-bird  sings  a  drowsy  strain 
To  coax  them  back  to  their  dreams  again, 

Though  distant  cocks  are  crowing. 

Or  do  they  tell  secrets  that  should  not  be  heard 

By  mortals  listening  and  prying  ? 
Perhaps  we  might  learn  from  some  whispering  word 
The  best  way  to  bring  up  a  little  bird  — 

Or  the  wonderful  art  of  flying. 

It  may  be  they  speak  of  an  autumn  day, 
When,  with  many  a  feathered  roamer, 

Under  the  clouds  so  cold  and  gray, 

Over  the  hill  they  take  their  way, 
In  search  of  the  vanished  summer. 

It  may  be  they  gossip  from  nest  to  nest, 
Hidden  and  leaf-enfolded ; 


158 


NATURE  IN  VERSE. 


For  do  we  not  often  hear  it  confessed, 
When  a  long-kept  secret  at  last  is  guessed, 
That  "  a  little  bird  has  told  it  "  ? 

Perhaps  —  but  the  question  is  wrapped  in  doubt, 

They  give  me  no  hint  or  warning. 

Listen,  and  tell  me  if  you  find  out 

What  do  the  robins  talk  about 

At  three  o'clock  in  the  morning. 

—  R.S.  Palfrey, 


>>©<< 


WHO    STOLE   THE    BIRD'S    NEST? 


T 


O-WHIT,  to-whit,  to-whee! 
Will  you  listen  to  me  ? 
Who  stole  four  eggs  I  laid, 
And  the  nice  nest  I  made?  " 

"  Not  I,"  said  the  cow  ;  "  moo-oo  ! 

Such  a  thing  I'd  never  do. 

I  gave  you  a  wisp  of  hay, 

But  didn't  take  your  nest  away. 

Not  I,"  said  the  cow  ;  "  moo-oo  ! 

Such  a  thing  I'd  never  do  !  " 


"  Bob-o'-link  !  bob-o'-link  ! 
Now,  what  do  you  think  ? 
Who  stole  a  nest  away 
From  the  plum-tree  to-day  ? 


SONGS   OF  SUMMER.  159 

"Not  I,"  said  the  dog;  "  bow-wow ! 
I  wouldn't  be  so  mean  anyhow. 
I  gave  hairs  the  nest  to  make, 
But  the  nest  I  did  not  take. 
Not  I,"  said  the  dog;   "bow-wow! 
I  wouldn't  be  so  mean  anyhow !  " 

"  Coo-coo,  coo-coo,  coo-coo  ! 
Let  me  speak  a  word  or  two  : 
Who  stole  that  pretty  nest 
From  little  yellow  breast  ?  " 

"  Not  I,"  said  the  sheep  ;  "  oh,  no  ! 

I  wouldn't  treat  a  poor  bird  so. 

I  gave  wool  the  nest  to  line, 

But  the  nest  was  none  of  mine. 

Baa,  baa  !  "  said  the  sheep  ;  "  oh,  no ! 

I  wouldn't  treat  a  poor  bird  so  !  " 

"  Caw,  caw  !  "  cried  the  crow  ; 
"  I  should  like  to  know 
What  thief  took  away 
A  bird's  nest  to-day  ?  " 

"  Chick,  chick  !  "  said  the  hen  ; 
"  Don't  ask  me  again  ; 
Why,  I  haven't  a  chick 
Would  do  such  a  trick ! 
We  each  gave  her  a  feather 
And  she  wove  them  together. 
I'd  scorn  to  intrude 
On  her  and  her  brood. 
Cluck,  cluck  !  "  said  the  hen ; 
"  Don't  ask  me  again." 


160  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

"  Chir-a-whir !  chir-a-whir! 
We'll  make  a  great  stir, 
And  find  out  his  name, 
And  all  cry,  '  For  shame  ! '  " 

"  I  would  not  rob  a  bird," 

Said  little  Mary  Green ; 
"  I  think  I  never  heard 

Of  anything  so  mean." 

"  It  is  very  cruel  too," 

Said  little  Alice  Neal ; 
"  I  wonder  if  he  knew 

How  sad  the  bird  would  feel !  " 

A  little  boy  hung  down  his  head, 
And  went  and  hid  behind  the  bed ; 
For  he  stole  that  pretty  nest, 
From  poor  little  yellow  breast ; 
And  he  felt  so  full  of  shame, 
He  didn't  like  to  tell  his  name. 

—  L.  Maria  Child. 


THE    PETER-BIRD. 

WHEN  summer's  birds  are  bringing 
Their  clear,  concerted  singing, 
Singing  gladder,  gladder,  gladder  in  their  glees ; 
When  finches  and  the  thrushes 
Make  vocal  all  the  bushes, 
And  the  lark  his  note  of  morning  welcome  frees  • 
I  hear  no  meter  sweeter 
Than  "  Peter—  Peter  — Peter," 
That  the  Peter-bird  is  singing  in  my  trees. 


SONGS   OF  SUMMER.  161 

How  good  to  lie  and  listen, 

Where  brooks  in  summer  glisten, 
As  they  ripple,  ripple,  ripple  to  the  seas ; 

Where  faintly  in  the  pebbles 

They  play  their  pretty  trebles 
In  the  plaintive,  sad,  and  tender  minor  keys ; 

But  they  can  play  no  meter 

Like  "  Peter  —  Peter  —  Peter," 
That  the  Peter-bird  is  singing  in  my  trees. 

When  softly  at  the  nooning 

I  hear  the  clover  crooning 
Of  its  nectar,  nectar,  nectar,  and  the  bees ; 

When  corn  a-field  is  drying, 

And  fading  blades  are  flying 
With  a  floating  pennon-rustle  in  the  breeze, 

Oh,  sweet  it  is,  but  sweeter 

Is  "  Peter  —  Peter—  Peter," 
That  the  Peter-bird  is  singing  in  my  trees. 

When  summer's  joy  is  over 

And  bees  have  robbed  the  clover, 
Leaving  odor,  only  odor,  to  appease  ; 

When  red  autumnal  juices 

Make  music  in  their  sluices 
As  the  fruity  currents  gurgle  from  their  lees ; 

The  wine-tide  sings  not  sweeter 

Than  "  Peter  —  Peter  —  Peter," 
That  the  Peter-bird  is  singing  in  my  trees. 

—  Henry  Thompson  Stanton — Century,  Aug.  1889= 
M 


162  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 


A   FABLE. 

I  KNOW  not  what  sly  little  fairy 
Crept  into  the  woods  that  day, 
But  every  birdie  tried  singing, 
Each  in  his  neighbor's  way. 

Said  Robin,  "  I'm  tired  of  shouting 
My  loud  notes  the  whole  day  through, 

I'll  warble  softly  and  sweetly, 

Like  my  neighbor  dressed  in  blue." 

Said  Bluebird,  "  I'm  tired  of  singing 

My  poor  little  piping  song  ; 
I'll  make  my  notes  like  the  robin's, 

Saucy,  and  bold  and  strong." 

Said  Bobolink,  ceasing  his  singing 

Atop  of  a  blossoming  spray, 
"  I'm  sick  of  my  tinkling  nonsense, 

I'll  sing  like  the  thrush  to-day." 

Said  the  Thrush,  "  I'm  tired  of  lisping 
Sad  notes  to  these  shadows  dark, 

I'll  hie  me  away  to  the  meadows 
And  merrily  sing  like  the  lark." 

Bobolink  began  ;  —  such  an  odd  little  noise  ; 

Said  the  solemn  pine-trees,  "  Hush  ! 
You're  just  a  saucy  meadow  bird, 

You  never  will  be  a  thrush." 

The  thrush  and  robin  and  bluebird ! 

You  ought  to  have  heard  the  brook 
Laugh  at  their  queer  performances  ; 

The  grasses  bent  double  and  shook 


T 


SONGS   OF  SUMMER.  163 

Their  airy  heads  with  laughter, 

The  daisies  stared  and  blushed 
For  their  friends,  the  little  musicians. 

Just  then  the  gray  sky  flushed, 

And  the  sun  came  up  to  the  rescue, 

Wearing  his  comforting  smile, 
u  My  dears,"  he  said,  "  this  nonsense 

Is  never  worth  your  while. 

"  Go  each  and  attend  to  singing 

Your  own  sweet  song  of  praise, 
There's  naught  in  the  world  so  foolish 

As  aping  your  neighbor's  ways." 

—  Popular  Educator. 


-^oXKc 


THE    BIRDS'    LAWN    PARTY. 

HE  birds  of  the  woodland,  in  soft  summer  weather, 
Once  gave  a  lawn  party,  way  down  in  the  heather. 


Their  neat  invitations  were  written,  you  see, 
On  the  prettiest  leaves  from  the  prettiest  tree. 

Then  daintily  tied  with  a  fine  silver  thread, 

And  gracefully  hung  round  a  carrier-dove's  head, 

Who  sped  on  her  mission  with  a  joyful  glee, 
And  delivered  each  note  with  an  "  R.  S.  V.  P." 

To  flowers  and  insects  and  plants,  one  and  all, 
Were  sent  invitations  to  attend  the  grand  ball. 


164  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

The  night  soon  arrived,  and  the  moon  shone  so  bright, 
That  the  birds  sang  together  in  happy  delight. 

The  Bullfrogs  and  Tree-toads,  who  lived  very  near, 
In  hew  coats  of  green  satin  were  first  to  appear. 

Then  followed  musicians,  a  numerous  band 

Who  were  led  by  Mosquitoes  from  Cedar  Swamp  Land. 

The  Beetle  came  in  with  Miss  Grasshopper  Green  ; 
Then  Crickets  and  Flies  were  the  next  to  be  seen. 

That  the  Wasp  and  the  Spider,  both  stylishly  dressed, 
Were  the  most  graceful  dancers,  by  all  was  confessed. 

There  were  Robin  Redbreast  and  dear  Jennie  Wren ; 
Causing  all  the  Magpies  to  chatter  again. 

And  the  Nightingale,  too,  in  a  loving  refrain, 
Was  wooing  the  Dove,  his  old  sweetheart,  again ; 

While  lingering  near,  in  a  blackberry  bush, 

Was  the  silver-tongued  Linnet,  and  fair  bride,  the  Thrush 

Now  who  do  you  think  the  chaperons  there ! 

Why,  the  three  Mrs.  Owls,  from  Dismal  Swamp  Square. 

The  flowers  and  plants,  though  the  last  to  appear, 
Wore  the  loveliest  costumes  of  any  one  there. 

With  just  one  exception  —  the  Butterflies  gay, 
Whose  costumes  are  made  by  the  fairies,  they  say. 

The  Daisies  were  peerless  in  robes  of  pure  white, 
And  their  proud,  happy  mothers  looked  on  in  delight. 


SONGS   OF  SUMMER.  165 

The  Buttercups  followed,  of  riches  untold, 
For  each  was  arrayed  in  a  gown  of  pure  gold ; 

And  the  Clovers  looked  sweet  in  pale  pink  and  white, 
As  they  merrily  danced  in  the  moon's  silver  light. 

The  Rosebud,  the  fairest,  and  queen  of  them  all, 
Was  acknowledged  the  belle  of  this  beautiful  ball. 

The  music  was  charming,  the  feast  was  quite  grand  ; 
There  were  sweetmeats  enough  for  all  guests  in  the  land. 

For  each  little  flower  who  daintily  sups, 
The  Fairies  served  dewdrops  in  lily-bell  cups. 

The  dancing  continued,  the  merriment,  too, 

Till  the  Moon  became  weary,  and  softly  withdrew. 

The  Fireflies  said  they  would  serve  in  her  place, 
Since  the  Moon  had  so  selfishly  hidden  her  face. 

Then  the  three  Mrs.  Owls  from  guest  to  guest  flew, 
Said,  "  The  Moon  has  retired ;  I  think  we  must,  too." 

The  Fireflies  came  with  their  swift-flashing  light, 
And  escorted  the  flowers  and  plants  home  that  night. 

All  the  guests  bade  adieu,  and  their  homeward  way  wended, 
From  the  nicest  affair  they  had  ever  attended. 

—  Child  Garden. 


» 


166  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 


THE    HAPPY    BIRD. 


OH,  if  I  were  a  little  bird 
Happy  would  I  be, 
Perched  all  day  on  a  leafy  tree ; 
Oh,  down  in  the  meadow 
Drinking  in  the  dew, 
I'd  be  a  merry  bird,  say,  wouldn't  you  ? 

Not  a  single  grammar  lesson, 

Not  a  word  to  spell, 

Funny  old  schoolhouse 

Without  any  bell ! 

Oh,  a  cherry  for  a  lunch 

And  a  blossom  for  a  book 

And  a  dinner  with  the  honey  bee, 

Down  by  the  brook. 


Selected. 


>>*<< 


THE    HIDDEN    SONGSTER. 

HARK!     Hear  you  not  that  long,  shrill  strain  ? 
Where  is  the  singer  hid  ? 
I've  looked,  and  looked,  but  all  in  vain. 
Where  are  you  ?     "  Katy-did," 

Comes  back  in  answer  to  my  call. 

"  Did  what  ?     Did  what  ?  "  I  cry. 
But  "  Katy-did,"  and  that  is  all 

He  gives  me  in  reply. 


SONGS   OF  SUMMER.  167 

Please  tell  me  Katy's  other  name  — 

I  really  want  to  know ; 
For  should  I  find  her  much  to  blame, 

It  would  not  vex  me  so. 

To  whom  does  this  strange  Kate  belong  ? 

Is  she  your  little  wife  ? 
And  have  you  sung  that  noisy  song 

Through  all  your  married  life  ? 

And  thus  I  question ;  but  in  vain, 

For  in  the  darkness  hid, 
He  utters  not  another  strain 

But  that  shrill  "  Katy-did." 


—  Selected. 


>^c 


TRUANT. 

TOMMY  thought  there  was  nobody  looking 
When  he  came  running  over  the  hill ; 
Stopping  to  hide  in  a  thicket  of  willows, 
Till  the  bell  in  the  village  was  still. 

Tommy  thought  there  was  no  one  to  see  him, 
None  in  the  road,  or  the  fields,  or  the  wood, 

But  all  the  willows,  and  all  the  grasses, 

And  clouds  and  daisies  could  see  where  he  stood. 

All  the  buttercups  standing  together, 

All  the  wild  roses  that  stood  by  the  way, 

Laughed  and  rustled,  "  See  Tommy,  see  Tommy, 
Tommy  played  truant  to-day." 


168  NATURE   IN  VERSE. 

Bees  and  butterflies  flying  before  him, 

Told  the  story  deep  in  the  wood, 
"  Here  comes  Tommy,  here  comes  Tommy, 

Tommy  hasn't  been  good." 

Saucy  waves  laughed  out  in  the  river, 

"  Tommy  had  lessons  to-day, 
He's  so  careless,  and  lazy,  and  dull, 

He  wanted  to  run  away." 

So  all  day  wherever  he  wandered, 

So  whatever  he  tried  to  do, 

Everything  was  upbraiding  Tommy. 

I  think  he  deserved  it.     Don't  you  ? 

—  S.  A.  Hudson. 

LADYBIRD,   LADYBIRD. 

LADYBIRD,  ladybird!  fly  away  home  ! 
The  field-mouse  has  gone  to  her  nest, 
The  daisies  have  shut  up  their  sleepy  red  eyes, 
And  the  bees  and  the  birds  are  at  rest. 

Ladybird,  ladybird!  fly  away  home! 

The  glow-worm  is  lighting  her  lamp, 
The  dew's  falling  fast,  and  your  fine  speckled  wings 

Will  flag  with  the  close-clinging  damp. 

Ladybird,  ladybird  !   fly  away  home  ! 

Good  luck  if  you  reach  it  at  last ! 
The  owl's  come  abroad,  and  the  bat's  on  the  roam, 

Sharp  set  from  their  Ramazan a  fast. 

1  Ramazan,  the  holy  month  of  the  Mohammedans,   in  which  they  keep 
their  lenten  fast. 


SONGS   OF  SUMMER.  169 

Ladybird,  ladybird  !   fly  away  home  ! 

The  fairy  bells  tinkle  afar  ! 
Make  haste  or  they'll  catch  you,  and  harness  you  fast 

With  a  cobweb  to  Oberon's  car. 

Ladybird,  ladybird !  fly  away  home  ! 

To  your  house  in  the  old  willow-tree, 
Where  your  children  so  dear  have  invited  the  ant 

And  a  few  cozy  neighbors  to  tea. 

Ladybird,  ladybird  !  fly  away  home  ! 

And  if  not  gobbled  up  by  the  way, 
Nor  yoked  by  the  fairies  to  Oberon's  car, 

You're  in  luck !  and  that's  all  I've  to  say  ! 

—  Caroline  B.  Southey. 

LADYBUG,    LADYBUG. 

LADYBUG,  ladybug,  haste  away  home  ! 
Your  house  is  on  fire, 
Your  children  will  burn. 

Dear  ladybug,  I  am  sorry  for  you 
If  your  house  is  on  fire. 
Oh,  what  will  you  do  ? 

And  your  poor  little  children 

All  burning,  dear  me ! 
It  does  seem  as  cruel 

As  cruel  can  be. 
Oh,  why  don't  you  hurry, 

You  slow  little  elf  ? 
If  I  knew  where  you  lived, 

I  would  go  there  myself. 


i70  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

The  house  might  burn  down 

While  you're  turning  about. 
'Tis  because  you  are  feeling 

So  badly,  no  doubt, 
That  you  hardly  can  stir  — 

No  wonder,  poor  dear ! 
You  must  be  half  crazy 

Such  bad  news  to  hear ; 
Though  I've  told  it  to  dozens, 
I  think,  beside  you,  I  feel 
Just  like  crying  whenever  I  do. 
Now  think  of  your  babies  ! 

Run,  ladybug,  run ! 
I  do  hope  some  neighbor 

Has  saved  every  one 
From  the  terrible  fire. 

And  ladybug,  then, 
You  can  build  a  new  house, 

And  be  happy  again. 


>**< 


Selected. 


MRS.    BRINDLE'S    COWSLIP    FEAST. 

A  COW  lived  in  a  pleasant  field, 
Where  cowslips  bloomed  in  spring. 
Said  she,  "  I  think  a  cowslip  feast 
Would  be  a  pleasant  thing." 

So  Mrs.  Brindle  sent  a  calf 

Around  the  farm,  to  say 
That  she  should  give  a  cowslip  feast 

At  four  o'clock  that  day. 


SONGS   OF  SUMMER.  171 

At  four  o'clock  she  sat  in  state 

Beside  the  flowing  brook ; 
The  cowslips,  with  their  golden  heads, 

Did  most  inviting  look. 

The  brindle  calf  in  apron  stood 

To  ope  the  five-barred  gate ; 
And  then  his  mother  said  that  he 

Upon  the  guests  must  wait. 

The  company  at  length  drew  near ; 

First  Mrs.  Blossom  came, 
And  Mrs.  Dun,  and  Mr.  Bull, 

Who  seemed  to-day  quite  tame. 

Red,  spotted,  white,  a  goodly  band 

Of  cows  and  calves  came  nigh ; 
And  Mr.  Donkey  said  that  he 

Would  cowslips  like  to  try. 

And  Mrs.  Mare  came  with  her  foal, 

And  Mr.  Horse  cams  too, 
And  several  sheep  with  frisky  lambs, 

In  woolen  dresses  new. 

Then  Mrs.  Brindle  bade  her  guests 

The  cowslips  sweet  to  eat ; 
And  if  they  wished  to  drink,  she  said, 

The  brook  was  clear  and  sweet. 

They  ate  and  drank,  and  chatted  too ; 

And,  when  they  went  away, 

Said,  "  Thank  you,  for  your  cowslip  feast, 

Dear  brindle  cow,  to-day." 

—  Selected. 


172  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 


THE   OXEN. 

THE  oxen  are  such  clever  beasts, 
They'll  drag  the  plow  all  day ; 
They're  very  strong,  and  tug  along 
Great  loads  of  wood  or  hay. 

They  feed  on  grass,  when  green  or  dry ; 

Their  flesh  is  beef,  for  food  ; 
Their  lungs  are  "  lights,"  their  stomach  tripe, 

Their  skin  for  leather's  good. 

Their  hair  men  use  in  mortar  too  — 

Lime,  water,  sand,  and  hair, 
They  nicely  mix  and  smoothly  fix, 

For  plastering,  so  fair. 

For  making  soap  their  bones  are  used ; 

Their  horns  for  combs  we  group ; 
Their  feet  are  boiled  for  "  neat's-foot  oil," 

Their  tails  for  ox-tail  soup. 

Their  heart-case  forms  a  money-bag ; 

Their  tallow,  candles  white  ; 
Their  intestine,  gold-beater's  skin, 

With  each  gold-leaf  we  smite. 

Thus  every  part  is  useful  made ; 

The  same  is  true  of  cows,  — 
Except  their  ilk  gives  luscious  milk 

Instead  of  dragging  plows. 

Oxen  and  cows  are  "  cattle  "  called  ; 

They  go  in  "  herds  "  when  wild ; 
And  when  they're  tame  by  other  name,  — 

A  "  drove,"  en  masse  they're  styled. 


SONGS   OF  SUMMER.  173 

Their  little  ones  are  "  calves  "  —  and  cows' 

Rich  milk  produces  cream, 
Which  butter  makes,  and  nice  cheese-cakes 

With  curd,  whey,  and  caseine. 

And  now  'tis  funny,  but  'tis  true, 

Some  children  young  and  mazy, 
Have  thought  their  eyes  were  used  some-wise 

To  make  the  ox-eyed  daisy. 

This  cannot  be,  yet  creatures'  bones 

Placed  round  trees,  plants,  and  bowers 

Will  serve  to  feed  just  what  they  need, 

To  grow  fine  fruits  and  flowers. 

—  Selected. 


^XXC 


V 


MRS.    PUSSY. 


MRS.  PUSSY,  sleek  and  fat, 
With  her  kittens  four 
Went  to  sleep  upon  the  mat 
By  the  kitchen  door. 

Mrs.  Pussy  heard  a  noise, 
Up  she  jumped  to  see  ; 

"  Kittens,  maybe  that's  a  mouse, 
Let  us  go  and  see." 

Creeping,  creeping,  creeping  on, 

Silently  they  stole, 
But  that  little  mouse  had  gone 

Back  into  its  hole. 


i74  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Pussy,  there, 
"  To  the  barn  we'll  go  ; 

We  shall  find  the  swallows  there 
Flying  to  and  fro." 

So  the  cat  and  kittens  four 
Tried  their  very  best ; 

But  the  swallows  flying  fast 
Safely  reached  the  nest. 

Home  went  hungry  Mrs.  Puss 
And  her  kittens  four  ; 

Found  their  dinner  on  a  plate, 
By  the  kitchen  door. 

As  they  gathered  round  the  plate, 
They  agreed  'twas  nice 

That  it  couldn't  run  away 
Like  the  birds  and  mice. 


^c 


Selected. 


A   BOY'S    SONG. 

WHERE  the  pools  are  bright  and  deep, 
Where  the  gray  trout  lies  asleep, 
Up  the  river  and  over  the  lea, 
That's  the  way  for  Billy  and  me. 

Where  the  blackbird  sings  the  latest, 
Where  the  hawthorn  blooms  the  sweetest, 
Where  the  nestlings  chirp  and  flee, 
That's  the  way  for  Billy  and  me. 


SONGS   OF  SUMMER.  175 

Where  the  mowers  mow  the  cleanest, 
Where  the  hay  lies  thick  and  greenest, 
There  to  trace  the  homeward  bee, 
That's  the  way  for  Billy  and  me. 

Where  the  hazel  bank  is  steepest, 
Where  the  shadow  falls  the  deepest, 
Where  the  clustering  nuts  fall  free, 
That's  the  way  for  Billy  and  me. 

Why  the  boys  should  drive  away 
Little  sweet  maidens  from  the  play, 
Or  love  to  banter  and  fight  so  well, 
That's  the  thing  I  never  could  tell. 

But  this  I  know,  I  love  to  play, 
Through  the  meadow,  among  the  hay; 
Up  the  water  and  o'er  the  lea, 
That's  the  way  for  Billy  and  me. 

—  The  Ettrick  Shepherd 


>>**< 


THE   COTTON    PLANT. 

SING,  oh  sing  for  the  cotton  plant! 
Bravely  may  it  grow, 
Bearing  in  its  seeded  pod 
Cotton  white  as  snow  ! 

Spin  the  cotton  into  thread  ; 

Weave  it  in  the  loom  ; 
Wear  it  now,  dear  little  child, 

In  your  happy  home. 


176  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

When  you've  worn  it  well  and  long, 

Will  it  worthless  be  ? 
No ;  a  book  made  from  this  dress 

You  yet,  in  time,  may  see. 

Sort  the  rags  and  grind  the  pulp  ; 

Weave  the  paper  fair  ; 
Now  it  only  waits  for  words 

To  be  printed  there. 

Thoughts  from  God  to  man  sent  down 

May  these  pages  show. 
Sing,  oh  sing  for  the  cotton  plant ! 

Bravely  may  it  grow ! 

May  ten  thousand  cotton  plants 
Spring  up  fresh  and  fair, 

That  words  of  wisdom  and  of  love 
O'er  all  the  world  shall  bear. 


—  Selected. 


;>*« 


TWO    OF   A   TRADE. 

THE  dragon-fly  and  I  together 
Sail  up  the  stream  in  the  summer  weather ; 
He  at  the  stern,  all  green  and  gold, 
And  I  at  the  oars,  our  course  to  hold. 

Above  the  floor  of  the  level  river 
The  bent  blades  dip  and  spring  and  quiver ; 
And  the  dragon-fly  is  here  and  there, 
Along  the  water  and  in  the  air. 


SONGS   OF  SUMMER.  177 

And  thus  we  go  as  the  sunshine  mellows, 
A  pair  of  nature's  merriest  fellows ; 
For  the  Spanish  cedar  is  light  and  true, 
And  instead  of  one,  it  has  carried  two. 

And  thus  we  sail  without  care  or  sorrow, 
With  trust  for  to-day  and  hope  for  to-morrow ; 
He  at  the  stern,  all  green  and  gold, 
And  I  at  the  oars,  our  course  to  hold. 

—  S.  W.Duffield. 


>XKc 


A   SUMMER    LULLABY. 

THE  sun  has  gone  from  the  shining  skies; 
Bye,  baby,  bye, 
The  dandelions  have  closed  their  eyes ; 

Bye,  baby,  bye. 
And  the  stars  are  lighting  their  lamps  to  see 
If  the  babies  and  squirrels  and  birds,  all  three, 
Are  sound  asleep  as  they  ought  to  be. 
Bye,  baby,  bye. 

The  squirrel  is  dressed  in  a  coat  of  gray ; 

Bye,  baby,  bye. 
He  wears  it  by  night  as  well  as  by  day ; 

Bye,  baby,  bye. 
The  robin  sleeps  in  his  feathers  and  down, 
With  the  warm  red  breast  and  the  wings  of  brown ; 
But  the  baby  wears  a  little  white  gown. 

Bye,  baby,  bye. 


178  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

The  squirrel's  nest  is  a  hole  in  the  tree ; 

Bye,  baby,  bye. 
And  there  he  sleeps  as  snug  as  can  be; 

Bye,  baby,  bye. 
The  robin's  nest  is  high  overhead, 
Where  the  leafy  boughs  of  the  maple  spread, 
But  the  baby's  nest  is  a  little  white  bed. 

Bye,  baby,  bye. 

—  E.  S.  Bumstead — St.  Nicholas. 


>>©<c 


THE   SONG    IN    THE    NIGHT. 

A  LITTLE  bird  sang  in  the  dead  of  the  night, 
When  the  moon  peeped  out  through  a  cloud ; 
He  sang,  for  his  heart  was  so  full  of  delight, 
It  seemed  almost  throbbing  aloud. 

"  Hush  !  hush  !  "  cried  the  old  birds  ;  "  you  foolish  young 
thing, 

To  wake  up  and  sing  for  the  moon ! 
Come,  tuck  your  silly  head  under  your  wing ; 

You'll  rouse  our  good  neighbors  too  soon." 

But  the  little  bird  flew  to  the  top  of  the  tree, 

And  looked  up  into  the  sky. 
"  Our  time  for  singing  is  short,"  quoth  he, 

"  And  sing  in  the  night  will  I." 

—  James  Buckha7?i  —  St.  Nicholas. 


% 


SONGS   OF  SUMMER.  179 


JAPANESE    LULLABY. 

SLEEP,  little  pigeon,  and  fold  your  wings,  — 
Little  blue  pigeon  with  velvet  eyes ; 
Sleep  to  the  singing  of  mother-bird  swinging  — 
Swinging  the  nest  where  her  little  one  lies. 

Away  out  yonder  I  see  a  star,  — 

Silvery  star  with  a  tinkling  song ; 
To  the  soft  dew  falling  I  hear  it  calling  — 

Calling  and  tinkling  the  night  along. 

In  through  the  window  a  moonbeam  comes,  — 
Little  gold  moonbeam  with  misty  wings ; 

All  silently  creeping,  it  asks,  "  Is  he  sleeping  — 
Sleeping  and  dreaming  while  mother  sings  ? " 

Up  from  the  sea  there  floats  the  sob 

Of  the  waves  that  are  breaking  upon  the  shore, 

As  though  they  were  groaning  in  anguish,  and  moaning- 
Bemoaning  the  ship  that  shall  come  in  no  more. 

But  sleep,  little  pigeon,  and  fold  your  wings, 

Little  blue  pigeon  with  mournful  eyes ; 
Am  I  not  singing?  —  see,  I  am  swinging — - 

Swinging  the  nest  where  my  darling  lies. 

—  Eugene  Field — A  Little  Book  of  Western  Verse. 


t 


180  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 


CRADLE   SONG. 


OBLUE  eyes  close  in  slumber; 
O  birdie  on  your  nest 
Sing  to  my  sleepless  darling 
A  little  song  of  rest. 

O  wind  among  the  roses, 

Soft  through  the  window  creep, 
And  with  your  murmur  music 

Hush  baby  off  to  sleep. 

O  bee,  that  such  soft  wooing 
Makes  for  the  lily's  sake, 

Come,  sing  your  song  of  summer 
To  little  wide-awake. 

O  cricket  on  the  hearthstone 
Chirp  low,  and  soft,  and  long, 

Till  little,  restless  baby 

Grows  drowsy  with  your  song. 

And  whisper  to  my  darling 
That  mother's  heart  will  keep 

A  watch  o'er  every  movement 
While  baby  is  asleep. 


Car  is  Brooke. 


SONGS   OF  SUMMER.  181 


CHILDHOOD    FANCIES. 

THE  twilight  gray  is  falling; 
Now  list  and  you  shall  hear 
The  footsteps  of  the  sylphid  fays, 
This  is  their  hour  of  cheer. 

List  to  the  gentle  patter 

On  each  wee  blade  of  grass, 
As  it  is  bent,  and  back  again, 

Whene'er  the  fairies  pass. 

Upon  the  tips  of  grasses 

They  cross  the  meadow  lawn, 

And  laugh  and  dance  and  play  and  sing, 
From  twilight  hour  till  dawn. 

They  light  their  myriad  lanterns, 

And  hang  them  in  the  arch 
Of  blue  that  canopies  o'erhead, 

And  by  their  light  they  march. 

They  sometimes  miss  a  fairy, 

And  take  a  lantern  down 
To  search  for  her,  and  mortals  say : 

"A  firefly  flits  around." 

On  leaves  they  hang  their  diamonds, 
Their  pearls  in  every  flower ; 

Their  gauzy  veils  upon  the  grass 
They  spread  for  fairy  bower. 


182  NATURE   IN  VERSE. 

Their  slender  wings  are  hanging 

On  every  shrub,  across ; 
Their  seats  are  dainty  cushion-beds 

Of  green  and  springy  moss. 

Their  shrubbery  of  coral 

Is  gray  and  scarlet-tipped  ; 
Their  hair  upon  the  maize  is  hung 

Each  summer,  when  'tis  clipped. 

The  mushroom  forms  their  table, 

Their  dishes,  acorn  cups ; 
The  ant-hills  are  their  barracks  high ; 

Their  cannon,  "  hemlock  pops." 

Their  scarfs  of  plush  are  lying 
On  ripening  grape  and  peach ; 

Their  sea-shells  'neath  the  apple-trees, 
Each  spring  bestrews  their  beach. 

They  paint  the  leaves  in  autumn ; 

They  make  a  tiny  rink 
Of  every  puddle,  fen,  and  dike, 

And  skate  from  wave  to  brink. 

They  brown  the  nuts  in  forests, 

The  burrs  they  open  wide ; 
They  lure  the  feathers  from  the  clouds, 

And  pile  them  up,  to  slide. 

They  build  along  the  wayside 

Their  fairy  palisades,  — 
The  "  hoar-frost "  some  have  christened  it,  — 

And  hold  West  Point  parades. 


SONGS   OF  SUMMER.  183 

They  sketch  upon  the  windows 

Such  pictures  as  no  power 
Of  man  can  ever  execute, 

And  on  them  pearl-dust  shower. 

All  these,  and  myriad  fancies 

That  never  can  be  told, 
My  childhood  days  so  new  and  sweet, 

In  memory  infold. 

But  mother  softly  whispers, 

"  'Tis  not  the  fays,  my  dears, 
'Tis  old  Dame  Nature's  song  of  songs, 

The  '  Music  of  the  Spheres.' 

"  List  ever  for  it,  children, 

'Twill  bring  you  close  to  God ! 
Each  sound  but  echoes  Him  who  made, 

Each  motion  is  His  nod." 

—  Mother  Truth's  Melodies. 


SONGS  OF  AUTUMN 


U        m      -M 


t/i  s>  < 


Songs  of  autumn. 


THE   SEASONS. 

j^OUR  babies  lay  in  their  cradles  new, 

Beginning  to  think  of  "  What  shall  I  do 
The  world  to  brighten  and  beautify  ? " 
The  Spring  baby  first  said,  "  Let  me  try." 

So  she  put  on  a  dress  of  freshest  green, 
With  trimmings  the  loveliest  ever  seen  — 
Trimmings  of  tulips  and  hyacinths  rare 
And  trailing  arbutus  looped  everywhere. 

"  How  perfectly  beautiful !  "  Summer  said; 

"  But  wait  till  you  see  my  dress  of  red 

And  darker  green  with  golden  spots, 

Trimmed  with,  roses  and  pinks  and  forget-me-nots." 

"  Pooh  !  "  said  Autumn,  "  my  dress  will  be 
A  more  substantial  one,  you'll  see ; 
With  skirt  of  finest  and  yellowest  wheat, 
A  girdle  of  grapes  and  squash  turban  neat." 

Then  Winter  came  silently  tripping  along, 
Chanting  softly  a  Christmas  song, 
In  a  pure  white  dress  with  jewels  spread, 
Holding  a  basket  of  books  on  his  head. 

187 


188  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

Poems  and  stories  and  pictures  were  there 
Of  the  Christ  child,  the  Yule  log  of  folk-lore  rare. 
"  I  am  not  in  bright  colors,"  he  said,  with  a  smile, 
"  But  the  long  winter  evenings  my  gifts  here  beguile." 

—  Helen  Adelaide  Ricker. 


V 


>>«< 


LOST:    THE   SUMMER. 

WHERE  has  the  summer  gone  ? 
She  was  here  just  a  minute  ago, 
With  roses  and  daisies 
To  whisper  her  praises  — 
And  every  one  loved  her  so ! 

Has  any  one  seen  her  about  ? 

She  must  have  gone  off  in  the  night ! 

And  she  took  the  best  flowers 

And  the  happiest  hours, 
And  asked  no  one's  leave  for  her  flight. 

Have  you  noticed  her  steps  in  the  grass  ? 
The  garden  looks  red  where  she  went ; 

By  the  side  of  the  hedge 

There's  a  goldenrod  edge, 
And  the  rose-vines  are  withered  and  bent. 

Don't  you  fear  she  is  sorry  she  went  ? 
It  seems  but  a  minute  since  May ! 

I'm  scarcely  half  through 

What  I  wanted  to  do ; 
If  she  only  had  waited  a  day  ! 


SONGS   OF  AUTUMN.  189 

Do  you  think  she  will  ever  come  back  ? 
I  shall  watch  every  day  at  the  gate 
For  the  robins  and  clover, 
Saying  over  and  over : 
"  I  know  she  will  come,  if  I  wait !  " 

—  R.  M.  Alden  —  The  Pansy,  Sept.,  1894. 


3>X< 


AUTUMN. 

THE  world  puts  on  its  robes  of  glory  now; 
The  very  flowers  are  tinged  with  deeper  dyes ; 
The  waves  are  bluer,  and  the  angels  pitch 
Their  shining  tents  along  the  sunset  skies. 

The  distant  hills  are  crowned  with  purple  mist ; 

The  days  are  mellow,  and  the  long  calm  nights, 
To  wondering  eyes,  like  weird  magicians  show 

The  shifting  splendors  of  the  Northern  Lights. 

The  generous  earth  spreads  out  her  faithful  stores, 
And  all  the  leaves  are  thick  with  ripened  sheaves  ; 

While  in  the  woods,  at  Autumn's  rustling  step, 

The  maples  blush  through  all  their  trembling  leaves. 

—  Albert  Laighton. 

AUTUMN    SONG. 

NO  clouds  are  in  the  morning  sky 
The  vapors  hug  the  stream  — 
Who  says  that  life  and  love  can  die 
In  all  this  northern  gleam ! 


190  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

At  every  turn  the  maples  burn, 

The  quail  is  whistling  free, 
The  partridge  whirrs,  and  the  frosted  burrs 
Are  dropping  for  you  and  me. 
Ho  !  hilly  ho  !  heigh  O  ! 
Hilly  ho  ! 
In  the  clear  October  morning. 

Along  our  path  the  woods  are  bold 

And  glow  with  ripe  desire ; 
The  yellow  chestnut  showers  its  gold, 

The  sumachs  spread  their  fire ; 
The  breezes  feel  as  crisp  as  steel, 

The  buckwheat  tops  are  red  : 
Then  down  the  lane,  love,  scurry  again, 

And  over  the  stubble  tread ! 
Ho  !  hilly  ho  !  heigh  O  ! 
Hilly  ho  / 
In  the  clear  October  morning. 


E.  C.  Stedman. 


*&s 


ABOUT   THE    FAIRIES. 

PRAY,  where  are  the  little  bluebells  gone, 
That  lately  bloomed  in  the  wood  ? 
Why,  the  little  fairies  have  each  taken  one, 
And  put  it  on  for  a  hood. 

And  where  are  the  pretty  grass-stalks  gone, 
That  waved  in  the  summer  breeze  ? 

Oh,  the  fairies  have  taken  them  every  one, 
To  plant  in  their  gardens,  like  trees. 


SONGS   OF  AUTUMN.  191 

And  where  are  the  great  big  bluebottles  gone, 

That  buzzed  in  their  busy  pride  ? 
Oh,  the  fairies  have  caught  them  every  one, 

And  have  broken  them  in  to  ride. 

And  they've  taken  the  glow-worms  to  light  their  halls, 

And  the  cricket  to  sing  them  a  song, 
And  the  great  red  rose-leaves  to  paper  their  walls, 

And  they're  feasting  the  whole  night  long. 

But  when  spring  comes,  with  its  soft,  mild  ray, 

And  the  ripple  of  gentle  rain, 

The  fairies  bring  back  what  they've  taken  away, 

And  give  it  us  all  again. 

—  Selected. 


TRIFLES. 

A  RAINDROP  is  a  little  thing, 
But  on  the  thirsty  ground, 
It  helps  to  make  the  flowers  of  spring, 
And  beauty  spread  around. 

A  ray  of  light  may  seem  to  be 

Lost  in  the  blaze  of  day ; 

But  its  sweet  mission  God  can  see, 

Who  sends  it  on  its  way. 

—  Colesworthy . 


% 


192  NATURE  IN   VERSE. 


SUNSHINE. 

I  WISH  the  beautiful  sun  would  shine, 
Every,  every  day, 
Beaming  over  the  whole  great  world, 
And  making  it  bright  and  gay. 

I  wish  that  every  gloomy  cloud 

Would  hurry  and  hide  away, 
Wherever  it  came  from  —  I  don't  know 

Nor  care  —  if  they'd  go  and  stay. 

I  wish,  I  wish  —  but  what  is  the  use 

Of  wishing,  I'd  like  to  know  ? 
For  grandmother  says  that  clouds  and  shine 

Will  always  come  and  go. 

But  wee  little  girls  like  me,  she  says, 
Can  smile,  and  smile,  and  smile, 

Till  every  one  who  sees  will  think 
It  is  sunshine  all  the  while. 

I'd  like  to  try  it,  but,  don't  you  see, 

A  bit  of  a  smile  like  mine 
Would  reach  such  a  very  little  way 

And  make  such  a  little  shine  ? 

But  ah  —  if  every  boy  and  girl 
Would  smile,  and  smile,  and  see 

How  far  they  could  make  the  brightness  go, 
How  shining  the  world  would  be ! 


Selected. 


l^ 


/- 


SONGS   OF  AUTUMN.  193 


SEPTEMBER. 


THE  goldenrod  is  yellow  ; 
The  corn  is  turning  brown ; 
The  trees  in  apple  orchards 
With  fruit  are  bending  down. 

The  gentian's  bluest  fringes 

Are  curling  in  the  sun ; 
In  dusty  poofs  the  milkweed 

Its  hidden  silk  has  spun. 

The  sedges  flaunt  their  harvest, 

In  every  meadow  nook ; 
And  asters  by  the  brook-side 

Make  asters  in  the  brook. 

From  dewy  lanes  at  morning 
The  grapes'  sweet  odors  rise ; 

At  noon  the  roads  all  nutter 
With  yellow  butterflies. 

By  all  these  lovely  tokens 

September  days  are  here, 
With  summer's  best  of  weather, 

And  autumn's  best  of  cheer. 

—  Helen  Hunt  Jackson. 

GOLDENROD. 

TELL  me,  sunny  goldenrod, 
Growing  everywhere, 
Did  fairies  come  from  fairyland 
And  make  the  dress  you  wear  ? 


o 


194  NATURE   IN  VERSE. 

Did  you  get  from  mines  of  gold 
Your  bright  and  shining  hue  ? 

Or  did  the  baby  stars  some  night 
Fall  down  and  cover  you  ? 

Or  did  the  angels  wave  their  wings 

And  drop  their  glitter  down 
Upon  you,  laughing  goldenrod, 

Your  nodding  head  to  crown  ? 

Or  are  you  clad  in  sunshine 

Caught  from  summer's  brightest  day, 

To  give  again  in  happy  smiles 
To  all  who  pass  your  way  ? 

I  love  you,  laughing  goldenrod, 

And  I  will  try,  like  you, 
To  fill  each  day  with  deeds  of  cheer ; 

Be  loving,  kind,  and  true. 

—  Mrs.  F.  J.  Lovejoy. 


>xx< 


GOLDENROD. 

"  T  TOW  in  the  world  did  I  happen  to  bloom 

1  A     All  by  myself,  alone 
By  the  side  of  a  dusty  country  roact> 

With  only  a  rough  old  stone 

"  For  company  ?  "     And  the  golden-rod, 

As  she  drooped  her  yellow  head, 
Gave  a  mournful  sigh.     "  Who  cares  for  me, 

Or  knows  I'm  alive  ?  "  she  said. 


SONGS   OF  AUTUMN.  195 

"  A  snow-white  daisy  I'd  like  to  be, 

Half  hid  in  the  cool  green  sod ; 
Or  a  pink  spiraea,  or  a  sweet  wild  rose  — 

But  I'm  only  a  goldenrod ! 

"  Nobody  knows  that  I'm  here,  nor  cares 

Whether  I  live  or  die  ! 
Lovers  of  beautiful  flowers,  who  wants 

Such  a  common  thing  as  I  ?  " 

But  all  of  a  sudden  she  ceased  her  plaint ; 

For  a  child's  voice  cried  in  glee, 
"  Here's  a  dear,  little,  lovely  goldenrod  ! 

Did  you  bloom  on  purpose  for  me  ? 

"  Down  by  the  brook  the  tall  spiraea 

And  the  purple  asters  nod, 
And  beckon  to  me  —  but  more  than  all 

Do  I  lovQyou,  goldenrod!  " 

She  raised  the  flower  to  her  rosy  lips, 

And  merrily  kissed  its  face. 
"  Ah  !  now  I  see,"  said  the  goldenrod, 

"  How  this  is  the  very  place 

"That  was  meant  for  me;  and  I'm  glad  I  bloomed 

•Just  here  by  the  road  alone, 

With  nobody  near  for  company 

But  a  dear  old  mossy  stone  !  " 

—  Selected. 


XT* 


196  NATURE   IN  VERSE. 


IN    SEPTEMBER. 


MORNINGS  frosty  grow,  and  cold, 
Brown  the  grass  on  hill  and  wold ; 
Crows  are  cawing  sharp  and  clear 
When  the  rustling  corn  grows  sere ; 
Mustering  flocks  of  blackbirds  call, 
Here  and  there  a  few  leaves  fall, 
In  the  meadows  larks  sing  sweet, 
Chirps  the  cricket  at  our  feet, 
In  September. 

Noons  are  sunny,  warm,  and  still, 
A  golden  haze  o'erhangs  the  hill, 
Amber  sunshine's  on  the  floor 
Just  within  the  open  door. 
Still  the  crickets  call  and  creak, 
Never  found,  though  long  we  seek; 
Oft  comes  faint  report  of  gun, 
Busy  flies  buzz  in  the  sun, 
In  September. 

Evenings  chilly  are,  and  damp, 

Early  lighted  is  the  lamp ; 

Fire  burns,  and  kettle  sings, 

Smoke  ascends  in  thin  blue  rings ; 

On  the  rug  the  children  lie, 

In  the  west  the  soft  lights  die, 

From  the  elms  a  robin's  song 

Rings  out  sweetly,  lingers  long, 

In  September. 

—  Sunday  Afternoon. 


SONGS   OF  AUTUMN.  197 


THE    SPIRIT    OF   THE    SUNSET. 

WHEN  the  aster  wakes  in  the  morning, 
In  these  sweet  autumn  days, 
She  sees  the  sumach  burning, 

And  the  maples  in  a  blaze, 
And  she  rubs  her  eyes,  bewildered, 

All  in  the  golden  haze. 
Then :  "  No,  —  they  still  are  standing ; 

They're  not  on  fire  at  all  "  — 
She  softly  says,  when  slowly 

She  sees  some  crimson  fall, 
And  yellow  flakes  come  floating 

Down  from  the  oaks  so  tall. 
And  then  she  knows  the  spirit 

Of  the  sunset  must  have  planned 
The  myriad  bright  surprises 

That  deck  the  dying  land,  — 
And  she  wonders  if  the  sumach 

And  the  maples  understand. 


—  Selected. 


GENTIAN. 

IN  spring  I  found  the  violet 
And  rosy  Mayflowers  sweet ; 
And  next,  white-fingered  daisy 
Was  courtesying  at  my  feet; 

Then  wild  rose  swung  her  censer, 

And,  in  a  secret  hour, 
The  lonely  meadow  flamed  abroad 

With  gorgeous  cardinal  flower. 


198  NATURE   IN  VERSE. 

Soon  goldenrod  close  followed 
And  aster's  gentle  eye  ; 

Now  withered  leaves  and  dying  sod 
Beneath  a  somber  sky. 

I  start  —  among  the  grasses 

What  eyes  of  heaven-blue  gleam, 

All  darkly  fringed  with  lashes 
Beside  the  quiet  stream  ? 

Oh  !  glance  of  true  affection, 
The  gentian  still  is  here; 

The  promise  set  'mid  fading, 
The  darling  of  the  year. 


Kate  L.  Brown. 


>XXc 


MARIGOLDS. 

DAME  NATURE  years  and  years  ago 
Sat  resting  in  a  wayside  bower, 
And  looked  into  a  cottage  yard 
Without  the  grace  of  one  wee  flower, 
To  thank  for  light  the  sweet  blue  skies, 
And  bless  the  children's  longing  eyes. 

She  leaned  her  head  upon  her  hand, 
And  took  her  glasses  off  to  think ; 
"  Sunshine  there  is  to  spare,"  she  said, 
"  And  dew  enough  for  all  to  drink, 
If  there  were  many  blossoms  more 
To  grow  upon  the  earth's  green  floor." 


SONGS   OF  AUTUMN.  199 

Then  rising  quickly  from  her  seat 
She  plucked  beneath  the  cottage  eaves 
The  sunbeams  that  were  wasted  there, 
And  bound  them  into  tiny  sheaves, 
Tied  them  with  dainty  bands  of  green, 
And  then,  on  tall  stems  scarcely  seen, 

Set  them  beside  the  cottage  door, 
Beneath  the  wall,  and  by  the  gate, 
And  when  the  morning  came  that  way 
It  found  them  all  in  golden  state : 
Gay  blossoms  lifted  toward  the  sky, 
And  nodding  to  a  butterfly. 

The  dew  was  on  their  shining  heads 

Just  ruffled  by  the  laughing  breeze ; 

The  children  danced  and  clapped  their  hands ; 

Out  from  the  corn-flowers  flew  the  bees  ; 

All  summer  breathed  in  their  rich  folds, 

And  people  called  them  marigolds. 

—  Susati  Hartley. 


^c 


THE   FLAX    FLOWER. 

OH,  the  little  flax  flower ! 
It  groweth  on  the  hill, 
And,  be  the  breeze  awake  or  'sleep, 

It  never  standeth  still. 
It  groweth,  and  it  groweth  fast ; 
One  day  it  is  a  seed, 


200  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

And  then  a  little  grassy  blade 
Scarce  better  than  a  weed. 

But  then  out  comes  the  flax  flower 
As  blue  as  is  the  sky ; 

And  "  Tis  a  dainty  little  thing," 
We  say  as  we  go  by. 

Ah  !  'tis  a  goodly  little  thing ; 

It  groweth  for  the  poor, 
And  many  a  peasant  blesseth  it 

Beside  his  cottage  door. 
He  thinketh  how  those  slender  stems 

That  shimmer  in  the  sun, 
Are  rich  for  him  in  web  or  woof 

And  shortly  shall  be  spun. 
He  thinketh  how  those  tender  flowers 

Of  seed  will  yield  him  store, 
And  sees  in  thought  his  next  year's  crop, 

Blue  shining  round  his  door. 


Oh,  the  little  flax  flower ! 

The  mother  then  says  she, 
"  Go,  pull  the  thyme,  the  heath,  the  fern, 

But  let  the  flax  flower  be  ! 
It  groweth  for  the  children's  sake, 

It  groweth  for  our  own  ; 
There  are  flowers  enough  upon  the  hill, 

But  leave  the  flax  alone ! 
The  farmer  hath  his  fields  of  wheat, 

Much  cometh  to  his  share ; 
We  have  this  little  plot  of  flax, 

That  we  have  tilled  with  care." 


SONGS   OF  AUTUMN.  201 

Oh,  the  goodly  flax  flower ! 

It  groweth  on  the  hill, 
And,  be  the  breeze  awake  or  'sleep, 

It  never  standeth  still ; 
It  seemeth  all  astir  with  life, 

As  if  it  loved  to  thrive, 
As  if  it  had  a  merry  heart 

Within  its  stem  alive. 
Then  fair  befall  the  flax  field, 

And  may  the  kindly  shower 

Give  strength  unto  its  shining  stem, 

Give  seed  unto  its  flower ! 

—  Mary  Howitt. 


>xx< 


THE   WIND. 

WHAT  is  the  wind,  mamma  ?  " 
"  'Tis  air  in  motion,  child." 
"  Why  can  I  never  see  the  wind 
That  blows  so  fierce  and  wild  ?  " 

"  Because  the  gases,  dear, 

Of  which  the  air  is  made, 
Are  quite  transparent ;   that  is,  we 

See  through,  but  see  no  shade." 

"  And  what  are  gases,  ma  ?  " 
"Fluids,  which,  if  we  squeeze 

In  space  too  small,  will  burst  with  force." 
"  And  what  are  fluids,  please  ?  " 


202  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

"  Fluids  are  what  will  flow, 

And  gases  are  so  light 
That,  when  we  give  them  room  enough, 

They  rush  with  eager  flight." 

"  What  gases,  dear  mamma, 

Make  up  the  air  or  wind  ? " 
"  'Tis  oxygen  and  nitrogen 

That  chiefly  there  we  find ; 

"  And  when  the  air  is  full 

Of  oxygen,  we're  gay, 
But  when  there  is  not  quite  enough, 

We're  dull  or  faint  away." 

—  Mother  Truth's  Melodies. 


:>XKc 


THE    POINTS    OF   THE    COMPASS. 

SAID  Wind  to  the  bright  little  weather  vane, 
"  I'll  teach  you,  I'll  teach  you ; 
Mind  my  commands,  come  sunshine  or  rain ; 
I'll  teach  you,  I'll  teach  you." 

Said  Wind  to  the  bright  little  weather  vane, 

"  Find  east,  dear,  the  east,  dear, 
'Tis  where  the  sun  comes  up  again ; 

The  east,  dear,  the  east,  dear. 

"  Now  turn  to  the  west  where  the  sun  goes  down, 

The  west,  dear,  the  west,  dear, 
See  all  the  little  clouds  wear  a  shining  crown, 

In  the  west,  dear,  in  the  west,  dear. 


SONGS   OF  AUTUMN.  203 

"  Now  turn  to  the  south,  where  the  warm  winds  blow, 

The  south,  dear,  the  south,  dear. 
You  will  like  that  best  of  all,  I  know, 

The  south,  dear,  the  south,  dear. 

"  Now  turn  to  the  home  of  the  north  wind  bold, 

Find  north,  dear,  the  north,  dear, 
Ugh  !  ice  and  snow —  but  who  cares  for  the  cold? 

The  north,  dear,  the  north,  dear. 

"  North,  west,  east,  and  south,  now  find  in  turn  ; 

That's  right,  dear,  just  right,  dear, 

You're  a  brave  little  fellow  and  quick  to  learn  ; 

Good-night,  dear,  good-night,  dear." 

—  Selected. 


\r- 


AUTUMN    LEAVES. 

"  /^OME,  little  leaves,"  said  the  wind  one  day, 

^^  "  Come  over  the  meadows  with  me,  and  play 
Put  on  your  dresses  of  red  and  gold ; 
Summer  is  gone,  and  the  days  grow  cold." 

Soon  as  the  leaves  heard  the  wind's  loud  call, 
Down  they  came  fluttering,  one  and  all ; 
Over  the  brown  fields  they  danced  and  flew, 
Singing  the  soft  little  songs  they  knew. 

"  Cricket,  good-bye,  we've  been  friends  so  long ; 
Little  brook,  sing  us  your  farewell  song  — 
Say  you're  sorry  to  see  us  go  ; 
Ah!  you  are  sorry,  right  well  we  know. 


204  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

"  Dear  little  lambs,  in  your  fleecy  fold, 
Mother  will  keep  you  from  harm  and  cold ; 
Fondly  we've  watched  you  in  vale  and  glade ; 
Say,  will  you  dream  of  our  loving  shade  ? " 

Dancing  and  whirling  the  little  leaves  went ; 
Winter  had  called  them  and  they  were  content  — 
Soon  fast  asleep  in  their  earthy  beds, 
The  snow  laid  a  soft  mantle  over  their  heads. 

—  Selected. 


THE    LITTLE    LEAVES. 

"  \^/E  must  go,"  sighed  little  Ruby, 

V  V       Orange,  Topaz,  Garnet,  Gold; 
"  For  the  chilly  breeze  is  calling, 

And  the  year  is  growing  old. 
Good-bye,  quiet,  sunny  meadow, 

That  we  nevermore  shall  see ; 
Good-bye,  winding  brooks  of  silver, 

Snow  lambs  and  dear  old  tree  — 

Dear  old  loving  mother  tree." 

From  the  branches  down  they  fluttered 

Like  a  rainbow  scattered  wide ; 
And  the  old  tree  looked  so  lonely, 

That  was  once  the  woodland's  pride ; 
But  the  wind  came  wildly  piping, 

And  they  danced  in  glee ; 
Ruby,  Topaz,  Garnet,  Orange, 

Soon  forgot  the  poor  old  tree  — 

Poor  old  loving  mother  tree. 


SONGS   OF  AUTUMN.  205 

But  when  skies  of  drear  November 

Frowned  upon  their  wild  delight, 
All  the  little  leaves  grew  lonely, 

And  they  wandered  back  one  night, 
And  they  nestled  in  a  hollow 

At  the  foot  of  the  old  tree, 
Sighing,  "  All  the  long  white  winter 

We  shall  now  as  quiet  be, 

Near  our  dear  old  mother  tree." 

—  George  Cooper. 


>XKc 


HOW   THE    LEAVES    CAME    DOWN. 

"  T'LL  tell  you  how  the  leaves  came  down." 
A     The  great  tree  to  his  children  said, 

"  You're  getting  sleepy,  Yellow  and  Brown, 
Yes,  very  sleepy,  little  Red. 
It  is  quite  time  to  go  to  bed." 

"Ah!"  begged  each  silly,  pouting  leaf, 

"  Let  us  a  little  longer  stay ; 
Dear  Father  Tree,  behold  our  grief ; 

'Tis  such  a  very  pleasant  day 

We  do  not  want  to  go  away." 

So,  for  just  one  more  merry  day 
To  the  great  tree  the  leaflets  clung, 

Frolicked  and  danced,  and  had  their  way, 
Upon  the  autumn  breezes  swung, 
Whispering  all  their  sports  among,  — 


206  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

"  Perhaps  the  great  tree  will  forget,  • 

And  let  us  stay  until  the  spring, 
If  we  all  beg,  and  coax,  and  fret." 

But  the  great  tree  did  no  such  thing ; 

He  smiled  to  hear  their  whispering. 

"  Come,  children,  all  to  bed,"  he  cried  ; 

And  ere  the  leaves  could  urge  their  prayer, 

He  shook  his  head,  and  far  and  wide, 
Fluttering  and  rustling  everywhere, 
Down  sped  the  leaflets  through  the  air. 

I  saw  them ;  on  the  ground  they  lay, 
Golden  and  red,  a  huddled  swarm, 

Waiting  till  one  from  far  away, 

White  bedclothes  heaped  upon  her  arm, 
Should  come  to  wrap  them  safe  and  warm. 

The  great  bare  tree  looked  down  and  smiled, 
"  Good-night,  dear  little  leaves,"  he  said. 

And  from  below  each  sleepy  child 

Replied,  "  Good-night,"  and  murmured, 

"  It  is  so  nice  to  go  to  bed  !  " 

—  Susan  Coolidge. 


V 


>XK< 


OCTOBER'S    BRIGHT    BLUE   WEATHER. 

SUN  and  skies  and  clouds  of  June, 
And  flowers  of  June  together, 
Ye  cannot  rival  for  one  hour 
October's  bright  blue  weather  ; 


SONGS   OF  AUTUMN.  207 

When  loud  the  bumblebee  makes  haste, 

Belated,  thriftless  vagrant, 
And  goldenrod  is  dying  fast, 

And  lanes  with  grapes  are  fragrant ; 

When  gentians  roll  their  fingers  tight 

To  save  them  for  the  morning, 
And  chestnuts  fall  from  satin  burrs 

Without  a  sound  of  warning ; 

When  on  the  ground  red  apples  lie 

In  piles  like  jewels  shining, 
And  redder  still  on  old  stone  walls 

Are  leaves  of  woodbine  twining ;      , 

\s     When  all  the  lovely  wayside  things 

Their  white-winged  seeds  are  sowing, 
And  in  the  fields,  still  green  and  fair, 
Late  aftermaths  are  growing ; 

When  springs  run  low,  and  on  the  brooks, 

In  idle  golden  freighting, 
Bright  leaves  sink  noiseless  in  the  hush 

Of  woods,  for  winter  waiting  ; 

When  comrades  seek  sweet  country  haunts, 

By  twos  and  twos  together, 
And  count  like  misers,  hour  by  hour, 

October's  bright  blue  weather. 

O  sun  and  skies  and  flowers  of  June, 

Count  all  your  boasts  together, 
Love  loveth  best  of  all  the  year 

October's  bright  blue  weather.  , 

—  Helen  Hunt  Jackson. 


208  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 


OCTOBER'S    PARTY. 

OCTOBER  gave  a  party; 
The  leaves  by  hundreds  came, 
The  Chestnuts,  Oaks,  and  Maples, 
And  leaves  of  every  name. 

The  sunshine  spread  a  carpet, 

And  everything  was  grand ; 
Miss  Weather  led  the  dancing, 

Professor  Wind  the  band. 

The  Chestnuts  came  in  yellow, 
The  Oaks  in  crimson  dressed, 

The  lovely  Misses  Maple 
In  scarlet  looked  their  best. 

All  balanced  to  their  partners 

And  gaily  fluttered  by ; 
The  sight  was  like  a  rainbow 

New  fallen  from  the  sky. 

Then  in  the  rustic  hollow 

At  hide-and-seek  they  played ; 

The  party  closed  at  sundown 
And  everybody  stayed. 

Professor  Wind  played  louder; 

They  flew  along  the  ground, 
And  then  the  party  ended 

In  hands  across,  all  round. 

—  Song  Stories  for  Little  Folk. 


SONGS   OF  AUTUMN.  209 


LITTLE   BY   LITTLE. 

WHILE  the  new  years  come,  and  the  old  years  go, 
How,  little  by  little,  all  things  grow ! 
All  things  grow,  and  all  decay  — 
Little  by  little  passing  away. 
Little  by  little,  on  fertile  plain, 
Ripen  the  harvests  of  golden  grain, 
Waving  and  flashing  in  the  sun 
When  the  summer  at  last  is  done. 

Low  on  the  ground  an  acorn  lies  — 
Little  by  little  it  mounts  the  skies, 
Shadow  and  shelter  for  wandering  herds, 
Home  for  a  hundred  singing  birds. 
Little  by  little  the  great  rocks  grew, 
Long,  long  ago,  when  the  world  was  new ; 
Slowly  and  silently,  stately  and  free, 
Cities  of  coral  under  the  sea 
Little  by  little  are  builded,  while  so 
The  new  years  come  and  the  old  years  go. 

Little  by  little  all  tasks  are  done ; 

So  are  the  crowns  of  the  faithful  won, 

So  is  heaven  in  our  hearts  begun. 

With  work  and  with  weeping,  with  laughter  and  play, 

Little  by  little,  the  longest  day 

And  the  longest  life  are  passing  away  — 

Passing  without  return,  while  so 

The  new  years  come  and  the  old  years  go. 

—  Selected. 


210  NATURE  IN   VERSE. 


A   CHANCE. 

"  /^~^  IVE  me  a  chance,"  an  acorn  said, 
VJT     "  And  I'll  grow  to  a  mighty  tree, 

And  then,  perchance,  on  a  summer's  day, 
In  my  shadow  I'll  shelter  thee." 

"Give  me  a  chance,"  said  the  rose-bush  small, 
"  And  I'll  bloom  with  a  beauty  rare, 

And  out  of  my  heart  in  its  gratitude 
For  you  I  will  scent  the  air." 

"  Give  me  a  chance,"  said  a  bobolink, 

"And  I'll  sing  you  a  merry  song, 
That  will  throb  in  your  heart  like  a  bit  of  heaven 

Throughout  your  whole  life  long." 

"  Give  me  a  chance,"  said  a  little  child, 

"  And  I'll  touch  that  heart  of  thine, 

And  thou  wilt  feel  as  once  thou  felt 

When  the  world  was  all  divine." 

—  Selected. 


>^< 


THE   CHESTNUT   BURR 

A  WEE  little  nut  lay  deep  in  its  nest 
Of  satin  and  brown,  the  softest  and  best, 
And  slept  and  grew  while  its  cradle  rocked, 
As  it  hung  in  the  boughs  that  interlocked. 


SONGS   OF  AUTUMN.  211 

Now  the  house  was  small  where  the  cradle  lay, 
As  it  swung  in  the  winds  by  night  and  day ; 
For  a  thicket  of  underbrush  fenced  it  round, 
This  lone  little  cot,  by  the  great  sun  browned. 

This  little  nut  grew,  and  erelong  it  found 
There  was  work  outside  on  the  soft  green  ground ; 
It  must  do  its  part,  so  the  world  might  know 
It  had  tried  one  little  seed  to  sow. 

And  soon  the  house  that  had  kept  it  warm 
Was  tossed  about  by  the  autumn  storm, 
The  stem  was  cracked,  the  old  house  fell, 
And  the  chestnut  burr  was  an  empty  shell. 

But  the  little  tree,  as  it  waiting  lay, 

Dreamed  a  wonderful  dream  one  day, 

Of  how  it  should  break  its  coat  of  brown, 

And  live  as  a  tree,  to  grow  up  and  down. 

—  Selected. 


NUTTING. 

COME,  Robert  and  Harry,  come,  Lily  and  May! 
October  is  here,  and  our  glad  holiday. 
With  every  breath  of  the  keen,  frosty  breeze, 
Brown  chestnuts  are  dropping  from  all  the  high  trees. 

Come  here  with  your  bags  and  your  big  baskets,  quick, 
And  Harry's  new  jack-knife  shall  cut  a  long  stick. 
Then  Robert  shall  climb  the  old  chestnut-tree  tall, 
And  thrash  the  big  boughs  till  the  ripe  chestnuts  fall. 


212  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

So  shiny  and  smooth,  and  so  plump  and  so  brown, 
The  handsomest  chestnuts  that  ever  fell  down  ; 
Though  stately  and  proud  the  old  nut  tree  has  stood 
A  hundred  long  years  —  the  king  of  the  wood. 

You  dear  little  squirrel,  you  look  very  wise, 
With  long  bushy  tail  and  bright,  shiny,  black  eyes. 
Pray,  sir,  do  you  fancy  you  own  the  big  tree  ? 
It's  quite  a  mistake,  sir,  between  you  and  me. 

We  don't  mean  to  rob  you,  dear,  not  in  the  least, 

But  we  too  like  chestnuts,  and  long  for  a  feast ; 

We  know  you  must  gather  your  snug  winter  store, 

But  after  we  go  you  will  find  plenty  more. 

—  Selected. 

LITTLE    NUT    PEOPLE. 

OLD  Mistress  Chestnut  once  lived  in  a  burr, 
Padded  and  lined  with  the  softest  of  fur. 
Jack  Frost  split  it  wide  with  his  keen  silver  knife, 
And  tumbled  her  out  at  the  risk  of  her  life. 

Here  is  Don  Almond,  a  grandee  from  Spain, 
Some  raisins  from  Malaga  came  in  his  train ; 
He  has  a  twin  brother  a  shade  or  two  leaner, 
When  both  come  together  we  shout  "  Philopena !  " 

This  is  Sir  Walnut ;  he's  English,  you  know, 
A  friend  of  my  Lady  and  Lord  So-and-So. 
Whenever  you  ask  old  Sir  Walnut  to  dinner, 
Be  sure  and  have  wine  for  the  gouty  old  sinner. 


SONGS   OF  AUTUMN.  213 

Little  Miss  Peanut,  from  North  Carolina, 
She's  not  'ristocratic  but  no  nut  is  finer. 
Sometimes  she  is  roasted  and  burnt  to  a  cinder, 
In  Georgia  they  call  her  Miss  Goober,  or  Pinder. 

Little  Miss  Hazelnut,  in  her  best  bonnet, 

Is  lovely  enough  to  be  put  in  a  sonnet ; 

And  young  Mr.  Filbert  has  journeyed  from  Kent, 

To  ask  her  to  marry  him  soon  after  Lent. 

This  is  old  Hickory ;  look  at  him  well, 
A  general  was  named  for  him,  so  I've  heard  tell. 
Take  care  how  you  hit  him.     He  sometimes  hits  back! 
This  stolid  old  chap  is  a  hard  nut  to  crack. 

Old  Mr.  Butternut  just  from  Brazil, 

Is  rugged  and  rough  as  the  side  of  a  hill ; 

But,  like  many  a  countenance  quite  as  ill-favored, 

His  covers  a  kernel  deliciously  flavored. 

Here  is  a  Southerner,  graceful  and  slim, 

In  flavor  no  nut  is  quite  equal  to  him. 

Ha,  Monsieur  Pecan,  you  know  what  it  means, 

To  be  served  with  black  coffee  in  French  New  Orleans. 

Dear  little  Chinquapin,  modest  and  neat, 
Isn't  she  cunning  and  isn't  she  sweet  ? 
Her  skin  is  as  smooth  as  a  little  boy's  chin, 
And  the  squirrels  all  chatter  of  Miss  Chinquapin. 

And  now,  my  dear  children,  "I'm  sure  I  have  told 
All  the  queer  rhymes  that  a  nutshell  can  hold. 

—  E.  J.  Nicholson  — St.  Nicholas. 


214  NATURE   IN  VERSE. 


THE   GOSSIP    OF   THE   NUTS. 

SAID  the  Shagbark  to  the  Chestnut, 
"  Is  it  time  to  leave  the  burr  ?  " 
"  I  don't  know,"  replied  the  Chestnut, 
"There's  Hazelnut — ask  her. 

"  I  don't  dare  to  pop  my  nose  out, 
Till  Jack  Frost  unlocks  the  door, 

Besides,  I'm  in  no  hurry- 
To  increase  the  squirrels'  store. 

"  A  telegram  from  Peanut  says 

That  she  is  on  the  way ; 
And  the  Pecan  Nuts  are  ripening, 

In  Texas,  so  they  say." 

Just  here  the  little  Beechnut, 

In  his  three-cornered  hat, 
Remarked  in  tiny  piping  voice : 

"  I'm  glad  to  hear  of  that ; 

"  For  then  my  charming  cousin 

So  very  much  like  me, 
Miss  Chinquapin  will  come  with  them, 

And  happy  I  shall  be." 

Then  Butternut  spoke  up  and  said : 

"  'Twill  not  be  long  before 
I'll  have  to  move  my  quarters 

To  the  farmer's  garret  floor; 

"With  Hickory  and  Walnut, 

Good  company  I'll  keep, 
And  there,  until  Thanksgiving, 

Together  we  shall  sleep." 


SONGS   OF  AUTUMN.  215 

Said  the  Shagbark  :  "  I  am  tired 

Of  being  cooped  up  here  ; 
I  want  to  go  to  see  the  world ; 

Pray,  what  is  there  to  fear  ? 

"  I'll  stay  up  here  no  longer ; 

I'll  just  go  pouncing  down. 

So  good-bye,  Sister  Chestnut ! 

We'll  meet  again  in  town." 

—  Selected. 


£©4c 


THE   SQUIRREL'S    ARITHMETIC. 

HIGH  on  the  branch  of  a  walnut-tree 
A  bright-eyed  squirrel  sat. 
What  was  he  thinking  so  earnestly  ? 
And  what  was  he  looking  at  ? 

The  forest  was  green  around  him, 

The  sky  all  over  his  head ; 
His  nest  was  in  a  hollow  limb, 

And  his  children  snug  in  bed. 

He  was  doing  a  problem  o'er  and  o'er, 

Busily  thinking  was  he  ; 
How  many*  nuts  for  this  winter's  store 

Could  he  hide  in  the  hollow  tree  ? 

He  sat  so  still  on  the  swaying  bough 
You  might  have  thought  him  asleep. 

Oh,  no ;  he  was  trying  to  reckon  now 
The  nuts  the  babies  could  eat. 


216  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

Then  suddenly  he  frisked  about, 
And  down  the  tree  he  ran. 
"  The  best  way  to  do,  without  a  doubt, 
Is  to  gather  all  I  can." 


:>^c 


Selected. 


TIME   ENOUGH. 

TWO  little  squirrels  out  in  the  sun, 
One  gathered  nuts,  the  other  had  none; 
"Time  enough  yet,"  his  constant  refrain, 
"  Summer  is  only  just  on  the  wane." 

Listen,  my  child,  while  I  tell  you  his  fate : 
He  roused  him  at  last,  but  he  roused  him  too  late; 
Down  fell  the  snow  from  the  pitiless  cloud, 
And  gave  little  squirrel  a  spotless  white  shroud. 

Two  little  boys  in  a  school-room  were  placed, 
One  always  perfect,  the  other  disgraced ; 
"Time  enough  yet  for  my  learning,"  he  said, 
"  I'll  climb  by  and  by  from  the  foot  to  the  head." 

Listen,  my  darling  :  Their  locks  have  turned  gray, 

One  as  a  governor  is  sitting  to-day ; 

The  other,  a  pauper,  looks  out  at, the  door 

Of  the  almshouse,  and  idles  his  days  as  of  yore. 

Two  kinds  of  people  we  meet  every  day ; 
One  is  at  work,  the  other  at  play,  — 
Living  uncared  for,  dying  unknown  — 
The  business  hive  hath  ever  a  drone. 


SONGS   OF  AUTUMN.  217 

Tell  me,  my  child,  if  the  squirrels  have  taught 
The  lesson  I  long  to  impart  in  your  thought ; 
Answer  me  this,  and  my  story  is  done, 
Which  of  the  two  would  you  be,  little  one  ? 

—  Selected. 


?:**:< 


PLANT   SONG. 

"  f~~\  WHERE  do  you  come  from,  berries  red, 

V^    Nuts,  apples  and  plums,  that  hang  ripe  overhead, 
Sweet,  juicy  grapes,  with  your  rich  purple  hue, 
Saying,  '  Pick  us,  and  eat  us  ;  we're  growing  for  you  ? ' 

"  O  where  do  you  come  from,  bright  flowers  and  fair, 
That  please  with  your  colors  and  fragrance  so  rare, 
Glowing  in  sunshine,  or  sparkling  with  dew  ?  " 
"  We  are  blooming  for  dear  little  children  like  you  ; 

"  Our  roots  are  our  mouths,  taking  food  from  the  ground, 
Our  leaves  are  our  lungs,  breathing  air  all  around, 
Our  sap,  like  your  blood,  our  veins  courses  through, 
Don't  you  think,  little  children,  we're  somewhat  like  you  ? 

"  Your  hearts  are  the  soil,  your  thoughts  are  the  seeds ; 
Your  lives  may  become  useful  plants  or  foul  weeds ; 
If  you  think  but  good  thoughts,  your  lives  will  be  true, 
For  good  women  and  men  were  once  children  like  you." 

—  Nellie  M.  Brown. 


218  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

HITHER,   MEADOW   GOSSIP,    TELL    ME! 
(to  a  bee.) 

HITHER,  meadow  gossip,  tell  me, 
Will  you  never  pause  to  rest  ? 
From  the  gray  of  dawn  I've  watched  you, 

Till  the  sun  has  burned  the  west ; 
Seen  you  whisper  to  the  gentian 

What  you  heard  upon  the  wheat ; 
And  the  flowers  nod  in  laughter 
At  the  stories  you  repeat. 

Long  and  vainly  have  I  listened 

To  discover  what  you  said, 
What  you  murmured  to  the  daisies, 

To  the  clovers  white  and  red ; 
And  I  saw  you,  after  prowling 

Where  the  columbines  were  hid, 
Set  the  apple  blossoms  blushing  — 

Yes,  you  shocking  wretch,  you  did ! 

Buttercups  and  dandelions 

Show  you  yellow  heaps  of  gold, 
Just  to  hearken  to  your  chatter 

And  the  scandals  you  unfold; 
Even  Jack  within  his  pulpit, 

Priestly  rascal,  likes  to  hear 
Things  about  his  congregation 

That  should  hurt  a  saintly  ear. 

And  lest  any  of  your  items 

Through  the  day  should  be  forgot, 

I  believe  you  always  write  them 
On  the  dim  forget-me-not. 


SONGS   OF  A  UTUMN.  219 

If  I  trust  you  with  a  secret 

Far  more  precious,  little  bee, 
Will  you  tell  me  on  the  morrow 

If  my  sweetheart  thinks  of  me ! 

Gentle  tattler,  I  must  love  you, 

Though  you  have  a  meddling  way ; 
And  I  would  that  human  gossips 

Had  the  wisdom  you  display, 
And  could,  leaving  all  their  slanders 

And  the  meanness  they  must  meet, 
Journey  homeward  in  the  gloaming 

Bringing  only  what  is  sweet. 

—  H.  Prescott  Beach  —  New  England  Magazine. 


3>^C 


MAUDE   AND    THE    CRICKET. 

GOOD-NIGHT,  dear  Maudie,"  I  softly  said, 
And  tucked  her  in  her  little  bed. 
"  Good-night,  mamma,"  she  said  to  me, 
"  I  am  just  as  sleepy  as  I  can  be." 

But  scarcely  closed  was  the  chamber  door, 
When  her  eager  voice  called  out  once  more : 
"  Mamma,"  she  said,  "what  is  it  I  hear  — 
That  strange  little  noise,  so  sharp  and  queer?" 


I  listened,  —  then  told  her  all  was  still, 
Save  a  merry  cricket  piping  shrill ; 
"  He  is  hidden  in  the  closet  here, 
To  sing  you  to  sleep,  my  Maudie  dear.' 


220  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

Then  Maudie  sat  up  in  her  night-dress  white, 
And  her  eyes  grew  big  and  round  and  bright. 
"  Now,  dear  mamma,  please  move  my  bed 
Close  up  to  the  closet  door,"  she  said. 

"  Poor  little  fellow  !     He  wants  to  speak. 
And  all  he  can  say  is  -  Creak,  creak,  creak  ! ' 
I  wish  to  tell  him  I  hear  his  song, 
And  ask  him  to  sing  it  all  night  long." 

"  I'll  leave  the  door  open,"  I  said,  "  part  way, 
So  the  cricket  can  hear  whatever  you  say ; 
Now,  while  I  go  to  your  baby  brother, 
You  little  crickets  may  sing  to  each  other." 

When  soon  again  I  crept  up  the  stair, 
And  stood  for  a  moment  listening  there, 
Over  the  household  was  silence  deep  — 
Maud  and  the  cricket  were  both  asleep. 

When  "sleepy  time"  came  for  Maude  next  night, 
She  rushed  around  like  a  fairy  white ; 
Peeped  into  the  closet  and  over  the  floor, 
To  find  the  little  cricket  once  more. 

He  was  not  to  be  seen  in  any  place, 

So  Maude  lay  down  with  a  mournful  face; 

When  under  her  crib  a  voice  piped  clear  — 

"  Creak,  creakety,  creak  !     I'm  here,  I'm  here  !  " 

Then  Maudie  screamed  with  surprised  delight ; 
And  she  always  believed  from  that  very  night, 
That  crickets  can  hear  when  little  girls  speak, 
And  mean  a  great  deal  by  their  "  Creak,  creak,  creak ! 

—  Selected. 


SONGS   OF  AUTUMN  221 


THE   CRICKET. 

LITTLE  inmate,  full  of  mirth, 
Chirping  on  my  kitchen  hearth, 
Wheresoe'er  be  thine  abode, 
Always  harbinger  of  good, 
Pay  me  for  thy  warm  retreat 
With  a  song  more  soft  and  sweet; 
In  return  thou  shalt  receive 
Such  a  strain  as  I  can  give. 

Neither  night  nor  dawn  of  day 
Puts  a  period  to  thy  play ! 
Sing  then  and  extend  thy  span 
Far  beyond  the  date  of  man. 
Wretched  man,  whose  years  are  spent 
In  repining  discontent, 
Lives  not,  aged  though  he  be, 
Half  a  span,  compared  with  thee. 

—  William  Cow  per. 


THE    FROG'S    GOOD-BYE. 

f^\  OOD-BYE,  little  children,  I'm  going  away, 
^-^    In  my  snug  little  home  all  winter  to  stay. 
I  seldom  get  up,  once  I'm  tucked  in  my  bed, 
And  as  it  grows  colder  I  cover  my  head. 

I  sleep  very  quietly  all  winter  through, 
And  really  enjoy  it;  there's  nothing  to  do, 
The  flies  are  all  gone,  so  there's  nothing  to  eat, 
And  I  take  this  time  to  enjoy  a  good  sleep. 


222  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

My  bed  is  a  nice  little  hole  in  the  ground, 

Where  snug  as  a  bug  in  the  winter  I'm  found. 

You  might  think  long  fasting  would  make  me  grow  thin, 

But  no !   I  stay  plump  as  when  I  go  in. 

And  now,  little  children,  good-bye,  one  and  all, 
Some  warm  day  next  spring  I  shall  give  you  a  call ; 
I'm  quite  sure  to  know  when  to  get  out  of  bed,  — 
When  I  feel  the  warm  sun  shining  down  on  my  head. 

—  Selected. 


>*Kc 


THE    SHINING   WEB. 

A  HUNGRY  spider  made  a  web 
Of  thread  so  very  fine, 
Your  tiny  fingers  scarce  could  feel 
The  little  slender  line. 

Round  about  and  round  about, 

And  round  about  it  spun ; 
Straight  across  and  back  again, 
Until  the  web  was  done. 

O  what  a  pretty,  shining  web 

It  was  when  it  was  done  ! 
The  little  flies  all  came  to  see 
It  hanging  in  the  sun. 

Round  about  and  round  about, 

And  round  about  they  danced ; 
Across  the  web  and  back  again, 
They  darted  and  they  glanced. 


SONGS   OF  AUTUMN.  223 

The  hungry  spider  sat  and  watched 

The  happy  little  flies  ; 
It  saw  all  round  about  its  head  — 
It  had  so  many  eyes. 

Round  about  and  round  about, 

And  round  about  they  go  ; 

Across  the  web  and  back  again, 

Now  high  again,  now  low. 

"  I  am  hungry,  very  hungry," 

Said  the  spider  to  the  fly  ; 
"  If  you  would  come  into  my  house, 
We'd  eat  some,  you  and  I." 

But  round  about  and  round  about, 

And  round  about  once  more ; 
Across  the  web  and  back  again, 
They  flitted  as  before. 

For  all  the  flies  were  much  too  wise 

To  venture  near  the  spider ; 

They  flapped  their  little  wings  and  flew 

In  circles  rather  wider. 

Round  about  and  round  about, 

And  round  about  went  they ; 

Across  the  web  and  back  again, 

And  then  they  flew  away. 

—  Selected. 

THE   WANDERINGS    OF   THE    BIRDS. 

AUTUMN  has  come,  so  bare  and  gray, 
The  woods  are  brown  and  red, 
The  flowers  all  have  passed  away, 
The  forest  leaves  are  dead. 


224  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

The  little  birds  at  morning  dawn, 
Clothed  in  warm  coats  of  feather, 

Conclude  that  they  away  will  roam, 
To  seek  for  milder  weather. 

The  robin  gives  his  last  sweet  strain, 

His  mate  responding,  follows  ; 
And  then  away  they  lead  the  train 

Of  bluebirds,  wrens,  and  swallows. 

The  cuckoo,  thrush,  and  yellowbird, 
The  wild  goose,  teal,  and  sparrow, 

Martin,  and  chippy,  all  are  heard 
To  sing  their  parting  carol. 

The  oriole  hastens  in  his  flight, 

The  swallow  skims  the  water ; 
The  whip-poor-will  and  bobby  white 

Join  in  the  blackbirds'  chatter. 

Tribe  after  tribe  with  leaders  fair, 

All  spread  their  wings  for  flight. 
Away,  away,  high  in  the  air ; 

Nor  care  for  day  and  night. 

The  fig-tree  and  the  orange  bowers, 

They  soon  will  find  so  sweet; 
The  sunny  clime  of  fruits  and  flowers 

They  with  warm  hearts  will  greet. 

But  when  the  voice  of  spring  they  hear, 

They'll  sing  their  "  chick-a-dee," 
And  back  they'll  come  our  hearts  to  cheer, 

"Tu-whit,  tu-whit,  tu-whee." 

— Songs  for  Little  Ones  at  Home. 


SONGS   OF  AUTUMN.  225 

THE   SPARROW'S   NEST. 

NAY,  only  look  what  I  have  found ! 
A  sparrow's  nest  upon  the  ground ; 
A  sparrow's  nest,  as  you  may  see, 
Blown  out  of  yonder  old  elm-tree. 

And  what  a  medley  thing  it  is  ! 
I  never  saw  a  nest  like  this, 
So  neatly  wove  with  decent  care, 
Of  silvery  moss  and  shining  hair. 

But  put  together,  odds  and  ends, 
Picked  up  from  enemies  and  friends ; 
See,  bits  of  thread,  and  bits  of  rag, 
Just  like  a  little  rubbish  bag ! 

See,  hair  of  dog  and  fur  of  cat, 

And  rovings  of  a  worsted  mat, 

And  shreds  of  silks,  and  many  a  feather 

Compacted  cunningly  together. 

Well,  here  has  hoarding  been  and  living, 
And  not  a  little  good  contriving, 
Before  a  home  of  peace  and  ease 
Was  fashioned  out  of  things  like  these ! 


[&k 


Think,  had  these  odds  and  ends  been  brought 
To  some  wise  man  renowned  for  thought, 
Some  man,  of  men  the  very  gem, 
Pray,  what  could  he  have  done  with  them  ? 

If  we  had  said :   "  Here,  sir,  we  bring 
You  many  a  worthless  little  thing, 
Just  bits  and  scraps,  so  very  small 
That  they  have  scarcely  size  at  all ; 
Q 


226  NATURE   IN  VERSE. 

And  out  of  these,  you  must  contrive 

A  dwelling  large  enough  for  five ; 

Neat,  warm,  and  snug  ;  with  comfort  stored  ; 

Where  five  small  things  may  lodge  and  board.' 

How  would  the  man  of  learning  vast 
Have  been  astonished  and  aghast, 
And  vowed  that  such  a  thing  had  been 
Ne'er  heard  of,  thought  of,  much  less  seen  ! 

Ah  !  man  of  learning,  you  are  wrong  ; 
Instinct  is,  more  than  wisdom,  strong ; 
And  He  who  made  the  sparrow,  taught 
This  skill  beyond  your  reach  of  thought. 

And  here  in  this  uncostly  nest, 

These  little  creatures  have  been  blest ; 

Nor  have  kings  known  in  palaces 

Half  their  contentedness  in  this  — 

Poor  simple  dwelling  as  it  is ! 

—  Mary  Howitt. 


THE   WILD    RABBITS. 

AMONG  the  sand-hills, 
Near  by  the  sea, 
Wild  young  rabbits 
Were  seen  by  me. 

They  live  in  burrows 
With  winding  ways, 

And  there  they  shelter 
On  rainy  days. 


SONGS   OF  AUTUMN.  227 

The  mother  rabbits 

Make  cosy  nests, 
With  hairy  linings 

From  their  breasts. 

The  tender  young  ones 

Are  nursed  and  fed, 
And  safely  hidden 

In  this  warm  bed. 

And  when  they  are  older) 

They  all  come  out 
Upon  the  sand-hills, 

And  frisk  about. 

They  play,  and  nibble 

The  long,  dry  grass, 

But  scamper  away 

Whenever  you  pass. 

—  Selected. 


>**c 


CORN. 

THERE  is  a  plant  you  often  see 
In  gardens  and  in  fields ; 
Its  stalk  is  straight,  its  leaves  are  long, 
And  precious  fruit  it  yields. 

The  fruit,  when  young,  is  soft  and  white, 
And  closely  wrapped  in  green, 

And  tassels  hang  from  every  ear, 
Which  children  love  to  glean. 


228  NATURE   IN  VERSE. 

But  when  the  tassels  fade  away 

The  fruit  is  ripe  and  old ; 
It  peeps  from  out  the  wrapping  dry, 

Like  beads  of  yellow  gold. 

The  fruit,  when  young,  we  boil  and  roast, 
When  old,  we  grind  it  well. 

Now,  think  of  all  the  plants  you  know, 
And  try  its  name  to  tell. 


—  Selected. 


>XKc 


A    LESSON. 

ACORN-STALK  glanced  down  at  some  grasses, 
And  said  in  an  arrogant  tone, 
"  I  wish  that  my  fawning  relations 
Would  move  off  and  leave  me  alone. 

"Just  see  how  they  mix  with  the  clovers, 
And  nod  at  their  red  and  white  crests ; 

And  even  the  poor  silly  daisies 

They're  ready  to  welcome  as  guests ! 

"  No  wonder  each  morn  when  they  waken, 

Their  eyelids  are  heavy  with  tears, 
Through  envy  of  my  rustling  raiment, 

And  the  gold  drops  that  shine  in  my  ears. 

"  'Tis  true,  we've  a  common  venation ; 

But  that  need  not  addle  their  brains ; 
They're  born  to  a  lowly  position, 

There's  no  blood  of  mine  in  their  veins." 


SONGS   OF  AUTUMN.  229 

With  that  she  threw  back  her  silk  tassels, 

And  left  them  to  wave  in  the  breeze, 
Nor  took  farther  note  of  the  grasses 

That  timidly  crouched  at  her  knees. 

In  autumn  a  reaper  discovered 

The  corn-husk  all  withered  and  dried, 
So  he  stripped  off  her  bright  golden  ear-drops 

And  ruthlessly  cast  her  aside  ; 

And  when  the  next  spring's  glowing  sunshine 
Caused  Nature  her  white  robe  to  doff, 

And  the  earth  showed  a  few  snowy  patches, 
Like  a  cake  with  the  frosting  picked  off ; 

I  said  of  the  pale,  slender  fingers 

That  the  roots  of  the  grasses  sent  forth, 

"  Ah,  surely,  the  proud  are  made  stubble, 
And  the  meek  shall  inherit  the  earth !  " 

—  Selected. 


>>©<c 


THE   CHILD   AND   THE   WORLD. 

I   SEE  a  nest  in  a  green  elm-tree 
With  little  brown  sparrows,  —  one,  two,  three  ! 
The  elm-tree  stretches  its  branches  wide, 
And  the  nest  is  soft  and  warm  inside. 
At  morn  the  sun,  so  golden  bright, 
Climbs  up  to  fill  the  world  with  light ; 
It  opens  the  flowers,  it  wakens  me, 
And  wakens  the  birdies,  —  one,  two,  three. 
And  leaning  out  of  my  window  high, 
I  look  far  up  at  the  blue,  blue  sky, 


230  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

And  then  far  out  at  the  earth  so  green, 
And  think  it  the  loveliest  ever  seen,  — 
The  loveliest  world  that  ever  was  seen ! 

v. 

But  by  and  by,  when  the  sun  is  low, 
And  birds  and  babies  sleepy  grow, 
I  peep  again  from  my  window  high, 
And  look  at  the  earth  and  clouds  and  sky 
The  night  dew  falls  in  silent  showers, 
To  cool  the  hearts  of  thirsty  flowers ; 
The  moon  comes  out,  —  the  slender  thing, 
A  crescent  yet,  but  soon  a  ring,  — 
And  brings  with  her  one  yellow  star ; 
H*ow  small  it  looks,  away  so  far ! 
But  soon,  in  the  heaven's  shining  blue, 
A  thousand  twinkle  and  blink  at  you, 
Like  a  thousand  lamps  in  the  sky  so  blue. 

And  hush !  a  light  breeze  stirs  the  tree, 
And  rocks  the  birdies,  —  one,  two,  three. 
What  a  beautiful  cradle,  that" soft,  warm  nest ! 
What  a  dear  little  coverlid,  mamma-bird's  breast ! 
She's  hugging  them  close  to  her,  tight,  so  tight  • 
That  each  downy  head  is  hid  from  sight ; 
But  out  from  under  her  sheltering  wings 
Their  bright  eyes  glisten,  the  cunning  things ! 
I  lean  far  out  from  my  window's  height 
And  say,  "  Dear,  lovely  world,  good-night! 

"  Good-night,  dear,  pretty,  baby  moon  ! 
Your  cradle  you'll  outgrow  quite  soon, 
And  then,  perhaps,  all  night  you'll  shine, 
A  grown-up  lady  moon  !  so  fine 


SONGS   OF  AUTUMN.  231 

And  bright  that  all  the  stars 

Will  want  to  light  their  lamps  from  yours. 

Sleep  sweetly,  birdies,  never  fear, 

For  God  is  always  watching  near ! 

And  you,  dear,  friendly  world  above, 

The  same  One  holds  us  in  His  love ; 

Both  you  so  great,  and  I  so  small, 

Are  safe,  —  He  sees  the  sparrows  fall, 

The  dear  God  watcheth  over  all !  " 

—  Selected. 


^c 


A    NATIONAL    FLOWER. 

THEY  ask  me  to  vote  for  a  national  flower; 
Now,  which  will  it  be,  I  wonder. 
To  settle  the  question  is  out  of  my  power, 
But  I'd  rather  not  make  a  blunder. 

And  I  love  the  Mayflower  the  best  in  May, 
Smiling  up  from  its  snow-drift  cover, 

With  its  breath  that  is  sweet  as  a  kiss  to  say 
That  the  reign  of  winter  is  over. 

And  I  love  the  goldenrod,  too,  for  its  gold, 
And  because  through  autumn  it  lingers, 

And  offers  more  wealth  than  his  hands  can  hold 
To  the  grasp  of  the  poor  man's  fingers. 

I  should  vote  for  them  both  if  I  might ; 

But  I  do  not  feel  positive  whether 
The  flowers  themselves  would  be  neighborly  quite, 

Pink  and  yellow  don't  go  together. 


232  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

Oh,  yes,  but  they  do  !     In  the  breezy  wild  rose, 

The  darlingest  daughter  of  summer, 
Whose  heart  with  the  sun's  yellow  gold  overflows, 
(    And  whose  blushes  so  well  become  her. 

Instead  of  one  flower  I  will  vote  for  three ; 

The  Mayflowers  know  that  I  mean  them, 
And  the  goldenrod  surely  my  choice  will  be, 

With  the  sweet  brier-rose  between  them. 

You  see  I'm  impartial,  I've  no  way  but  this. 

My  vote,  with  a  rhyme  and  a  reason, 

For  the  Mayflower,  the  wild  rose,  and  goldenrod  is, 

A  blossom  for  every  season. 

—  Lucy  Larcom. 


>>*;< 


TWO    WISE    OWLS. 

WE  are  two  dusky  owls,  and  we  live  in  a  tree ; 
Look  at  her,  —  look  at  me  ! 
Look  at  her,  —  she's  my  mate,  and  the  mother  of  three 

Pretty  owlets,  and  we 
Have  a  warm  cosy  nest,  just  as  snug  as  can  be. 

We  are  both  very  wise ;  for  our  heads,  as  you  see, 

(Look  at  her,  —  look  at  me  !) 
Are  as  large  as  the  heads  of  four  birds  ought  to  be, 

And  our  horns,  you'll  agree, 
Make  us  look  wiser  still,  sitting  here  on  the  tree. 

Far  away  in  the  valley,  a  mile  it  may  be, 
Is  a  churchyard,  and  we 


SONGS   OF  AUTUMN.  233 

Often  sit  there  at  midnight,  and  hoot  in  high  glee. 

Does  that  owl  look  like  me  ? 
For  the  bird  in  the  air  is  my  mate,  as  you  see. 

And  we  care  not  how  gloomy  the  night-time  may  be ; 

We  can  see,  —  we  can  see 
Through  the  forest  to  roam,  —  it  suits  her,  it  suits  me ; 

And  we're  free,  —  we  are  free 
To  bring  back  what  we  find,  to  our  nest  in  the  tree. 

—  Selected. 


**;c 


TOM. 

YES,  Tom's  the  best  fellow  that  ever  you  knew, 
Just  listen  to  this  :  — 
When  the  old  mill  took  fire,  and  the  flooring  fell  through, 
And  I  with  it,  helpless,  —  there,  full  in  my  view, 
What  do  you  think  my  eyes  saw  through  the  fire 
That  crept  along,  crept  along,  nigher  and  nigher, 
But  Robin,  my  baby  boy,  laughing  to  see 
The  shining  ?     He  must  have  come  there  after  me. 
Toddled  alone  from  the  cottage  without 
Any  one's  missing  him.     Then  what  a  shout — 
Oh  !  how  I  shouted,  "  For  Heaven's  sake,  men, 
Save  little  Robin  !  "     Again  and  again 
They  tried,  but  the  fire  held  them  back  like  a  wall, 
I  could  hear  them  go  at  it,  and  at  it,  and  call, 
"  Never  mind,  baby,  sit  still  like  a  man ! 
We're  coming  to  get  you  as  fast  as  we  can." 
They  could  not  see  him,  but  I  could ;  he  sat 
Still  on  a  beam,  his  little  straw  hat 


234  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

Carefully  placed  by  his  side  ;  and  his  eyes 
Stared  at  the  flame  with  a  baby's  surprise, 
Calm  and  unconscious,  as  nearer  it  crept ; 
The  roar  of  the  fire  up  above  must  have  kept 
From  reaching  the  child.     But  I  heard  it. 

It  came, 
Again  and  again.     O  God,  what  a  cry ! 
The  axes  went  faster ;  I  saw  the  sparks  fly 
Where  the  men  worked  like  tigers,  nor  minded  the  heat 
That  scorched  them,  —  when  suddenly,  there  at  their  feet. 
The  great  beam  leaned  in  —  they  saw  him  —  then,  crash, 
Down  came  the  wall !     The  men  made  a  dash,  — 
Jumped  to  get  out  of  the  way,  —  and  I  thought 
"  All's  up  with  poor  little  Robin !  "  and  brought 
Slowly  the  arm  that  was  least  hurt  to  hide 
The  sight  of  the  child  there, — when  swift  at  my  side 
Some  one  rushed  by,  and  went  right  through  the  flame, 
Straight  as  a  dart,  —  caught  the  child  and  then  came 
Back  with  him,  choking  and  crying,  but — saved! 
Saved  safe  and  sound ! 

Oh,  how  the  men  raved, 
Shouted  and  cried,  and  hurrahed !     Then  they  all 
Rushed  at  the  work  again,  lest  the  back  wall, 
Where  I  was  lying  away  from  the  fire, 
Should  fall  in  and  bury  me. 

Oh !  you'd  admire 
To  see  Robin  now ;  he's  as  bright  as  a  dime, 
Deep  in  some  mischief,  too,  most  of  the  time  ; 
Tom,  it  was,  saved  him.     Now,  isn't  it  true 
Tom's  the  best  fellow  that  ever  you  knew  ? 
There's  Robin  now  !     See,  he's  strong  as  a  log ! 
And  there  comes  Tom,  too  — 

Yes,  Tom  was  our  dog. 

—  Constance  Fenimore  Woolson. 


SONGS   OF  AUTUMN.  235 


THE   RAINY    DAY. 


THE  day  is  cold,  and  dark,  and  dreary; 
It  rains,  and  the  wind  is  never  weary  ; 
The  vine  still  clings  to  the  moldering  wall, 
But  at  every  gust  the  dead  leaves  fall, 
And  the  day  is  dark  and  dreary. 

My  life  is  cold,  and  dark,  and  dreary ; 
It  rains,  and  the  wind  is  never  weary ; 
My  thoughts  still  cling  to  the  moldering  past, 
But  the  hopes  of  youth  fall  thick  in  the  blast, 
And  the  days  must  be  dark  and  dreary. 

Be  still,  sad  heart!  and  cease  repining; 
Behind  the  clouds  is  the  sun  still  shining ; 
Thy  fate  is  the  common  fate  of  all, 
Into  each  life  some  rain  must  fall, 
Some  days  must  be  dark  and  dreary. 

—  Henry  Wadsworth  Longfelloiv. 


NOVEMBER. 

THE  leaves  are  fading  and  falling, 
The  winds  are  rough  and  wild, 
The  birds  have  ceased  their  calling, 
But  let  me  tell  you,  my  child, 


Though  day  by  day,  as  it  closes, 
Doth  darker  and  colder  grow, 

The  roots  of  the  bright  red  roses 
Will  keep  alive  in  the  snow. 


236  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

And  when  the  winter  is  over, 
The  boughs  will  get  new  leaves  ; 

The  quail  come  back  to  the  clover, 
And  the  swallow  back  to  the  eaves. 

The  robin  will  wear  on  his  bosom 

A  vest  that  is  bright  and  new, 
And  the  loveliest  wayside  blossom 

Will  shine  with  the  sun  and  dew. 

The  leaves,  to-day,  are  whirling, 
The  brooks  are  all  dry  and  dumb ; 

But  let  me  tell  you,  my  darling, 
The  spring  will  be  sure  to  come. 

There  must  be  rough,  cold  weather, 

And  winds  and  rains  so  wild; 
Not  all  good  things  together 

Come  to  us  here,  my  child. 

So,  when  some  dear  joy  loses 

Its  beauteous  summer  glow, 

Think  how  the  roots  of  the  roses 

Are  kept  alive  in  the  snow. 

—  Alice  Cary. 


>XK< 


THANKSGIVING    DAY. 

VER  the  river  and  through  the  wood, 
To  grandfather's  house  we'll  go  ; 

The  horse  knows  the  way 

To  carry  the  sleigh 
Through  the  white  and  drifted  snow. 


o 


SONGS   OF  AUTUMN.  237 

Over  the  river  and  through  the  wood,  — 
Oh,  how  the  wind  does  blow  ! 

It  stings  the  toes, 

And  bites  the  nose 
As  over  the  ground  we  go. 

Over  the  river  and  through  the  wood, 
To  have  a  first-rate  play, 

Hear  the  bells  ring 

"  Ting-a-ling-ding  !  " 
Hurrah  for  Thanksgiving  Day  ! 

Over  the  river  and  through  the  wood 
Trot  fast,  my  dapple  gray  ! 
Spring  over  the  ground 
Like  a  hunting  hound ! 
For  this  is  Thanksgiving  Day. 

Over  the  river  and  through  the  wood, 
And  straight  through  the  barn-yard  gate ; 

We  seem  to  go 

Extremely  slow ; 
It  is  so  hard  to  wait ! 

Over  the  river  and  through  the  wood, 

Now  grandmother's  cap  I  spy ! 

Hurrah  for  the  fun  ! 

Is  the  pudding  done  ? 

Hurrah  for  the  pumpkin  pie ! 

—  Lydia  Maria  Child. 


t 


238  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 


THE    RACCOON. 


COME,  child,  and  see  our  pet  raccoon, — 
The  raccoons  live  in  the  woods,  you  know, 
But  ours  was  caught 
And  caged,  and  brought 
From,  old  Virginia,  long  ago. 

Oh,  no,  you  need  not  be  afraid ; 
See,  he  is  fastened  with  a  chain ; 

For  ropes  enough 

He  has  gnawed  off, 
And  he  is  hard  to  catch  again. 

He  e'en  will  climb  this  ten-foot  fence, 
And,  careless  where  his  feet  may  strike, 

He  tumbles,  bang ! 

And  there  will  hang, 
His  rope  being  caught  by  vine  or  spike. 

So  now  he's  chained ;  yet  up  he'll  climb 
The  stake  to  which  he's  fastened  tight, 

And  mutter  low, 

So  pleading,  Oh  ! 
'Twould  make  you  sorry  for  him,  quite. 

Just  see  his  nose,  so  pointed,  sharp, — 
His  ears  as  keen  as  keen  can  be, — 

His  eyes  so  bright, 

So  full  of  light, 
And  see  him  leap  right  merrily ! 


SONGS   OF  AUTUMN.  239 

His  fur,  you  see,  is  yellowish  gray,  — 
And  he  is  nearly  two  feet  long ; 

He  lives  on  roots, 

And  nuts  and  fruits, 
When  he's  his  native  woods  among. 

But  here  we  give  him  bread  and  milk ; 
He  never  eats  like  dogs  or  lambs, 

But  takes  it  up 

From  out  the  cup 
With  his  fore  feet,  as  we  use  hands. 

You'd  laugh  to  see  him,  I  am  sure  ; 
Of  strawberries,  too,  he's  very  fond  ; 

Will  poke  around 

Till  he  has  found 
Each  one  among  the  hulls  out-thrown. 

—  Mother  Truth's  Melodies. 


>>K< 


THE   ANT   AN    ENGINEER. 

THE  pastry  was  delicious,  and  I  wanted  it  myself, 
So  I  put  it  in  the  pantry  on  the  very  lowest  shelf ; 
And  to  keep  it  from  the  insects,  those  ants  so  red  and 

small, 
I  made  a  river  round  it  of  molasses,  best  of  all. 

But  the  enemy  approached  it,  all  as  hungry  as  could  be, 
And  the  captain,  with  his  aide-de-camp,  just  skirmished 
round  to  see 


240  NATURE   IN  VERSE. 

Whether  they  could  ford  the  river   or   should  try   some 

other  plan, 
And,  together  with  his  comrades,  he  around  the  liquid  ran. 

I*o  his  joy  and  satisfaction,  after  traveling  around, 

The  place  where  the  molasses  was  the  narrowest  he  found  ; 

Then  again  he  reconnoitered,  rushing  forward  and  then 

back, 
Till  he  spied  some  loosened  plaster  in  the  wall  around  a 

tack. 

He  divided  then  his  forces,  with  a  foreman  for  each  squad, 
And  he  marshaled  the  whole  army  and  before  him  each 

ant  trod ; 
His  directions  all  were  given ;  to  his  chiefs  he  gave  a  call, 
While  he  headed  the  procession  as  they  marched  off  up 

the  wall. 

Every  ant  then  seized  his  plaster,  just  a  speck  and  nothing 

more, 
And  he  climbed  and  tugged  and  carried  till  he'd  brought 

it  to  the  shore  ; 
Then  they  built  their  bridge,  just  working  for  an  hour  by 

the  sky, 

After  which  they  all  marched  over  and  all  fell  to  eating 

pie. 

—  Selected. 


THE    DAY   IS    DONE. 

THE  day  is  done,  and  the  darkness 
Falls  from  the  wings  of  Night, 
As  a  feather  is  wafted  downward 
From  an  eagle  in  his  flight. 


SONGS   OF  AUTUMN.  241 

I  see  the  lights  of  the  village 

Gleam  through  the  rain  and  the  mist, 

And  a  feeling  of  sadness  comes  o'er  me 
That  my  soul  cannot  resist : 

A  feeling  of  sadness  and  longing, 

That  is  not  akin  to  pain, 
And  resembles  sorrow  only 

As  the  mist  resembles  the  rain. 

Come,  read  to  me  some  poem, 

Some  simple  and  heartfelt  lay, 
That  shall  soothe  this  restless  feeling, 

And  banish  the  thoughts  of  day. 

Not  from  the  grand  old  masters, 

Not  from  the  bards  sublime, 
Whose  distant  footsteps  echo 

Through  the  corridors  of  Time. 

For,  like  strains  of  martial  music, 

Their  mighty  thoughts  suggest 
Life's  endless  toil  and  endeavor  ; 

And  to-night  I  long  for  rest. 

Read  from  some  humbler  poet, 

Whose  songs  gushed  from  his  heart, 

As  showers  from  the  clouds  of  summer, 
Or  tears  from  the  eyelids  start ; 

Who,  through  long  days  of  labor, 

And  nights  devoid  of  ease, 
Still  heard  from  his  soul  the  music 

Of  wonderful  melodies. 


242  NATURE   IN  VERSE. 

Such  songs  have  power  to  quiet 

The  restless  pulse  of  care, 
And  come  like  the  benediction 

That  follows  after  prayer. 

Then  read  from  the  treasured  volume 

The  poem  of  thy  choice, 
And  lend  to  the  rhyme  of  the  poet 

The  beauty  of  thy  voice. 

And  the  night  shall  be  filled  with  music, 
And  the  cares,  that  infest  the  day, 

Shall  fold  their  tents  like  the  Arabs, 
And  as  silently  steal  away. 

—  Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow. 


:>^c 


THE    SETTING    SUN. 

DEAR  John,  the  sun  is  setting  now; 
Behold  him  in  the  west ; 
And  all  the  children  now  must  soon 
Lie  down  and  go  to  rest. 

In  other  countries  far  away, 

The  day  begins  to  break, 
And  many  a  child  and  many  a  bird 

Will  soon  be  wide  awake. 

But  when  the  sun  comes  round  again, 

And  rises  in  our  east, 
Then  evening  will  begin  with  them, 

And  they  to  bed  will  haste. 


SONGS   OF  AUTUMN.  243 

How  very  good  in  God  it  is, 

To  make  the  sun  to  go 

All  round  this  great,  wide  world  of  ours, 

To  light  each  country  so. 

— Selected. 


**:« 


AT   SUNSET. 

SUNSET  glories  are  smiling  down ; 
Blue  and  crimson  and  golden  brown. 
Full  many  a  twittering  note  is  heard ; 
The  good-night  carol  of  many  a  bird. 

The  flowers  are  glad  at  sunset  time, 

The  yellow  aster  and  fragrant  thyme ; 

The  purple  pansy  lifts  its  head, 

Its  petals  half-dropping  and  withered  and  dead. 

Baby  laughs  at  the  colors  red 
And  gray  and  purple,  and  shakes  her  head. 
"  Just  right  for  a  dress,  mamma,  don't  you  see  ? 
It's  plenty  enough  for  you  and  me." 

Grandpa  sits  in  the  twilight  gray, 
His  locks  are  white  as  the  moonbeam's  ray, 
His  brow  is  furrowed  with  age  and  care, 
His  smile  is  sweet  as  angels  wear. 

Grandpa  and  baby  watch  together 
The  flowers  and  sunset  and  starry  weather. 
The  one,  for  a  glorious  harvest  meet ; 
The  other,  like  sunbeam  at  his  feet. 


244  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

We  are  all  children,  scarce  can  tell 
Of  the  wonderful  things  we  love  so  well ; 
Even  the  aged,  with  locks  like  snow, 
God  gave  them  to  us,  is  all  we  know. 

After  the  sunset  the  stars  shine  down 
Where  once  was  crimson  and  blue  and  brown ; 
The  full-orbed  moon  in  silvery  white,  — 
And  dusky  shadows  are  clothed  in  light. 

Beyond  earth's  sunset  glories  fair 
Lies  a  golden  daylight,  deep  and  rare. 
And,  listen  !  —  through  its  hush,  are  heard, 
Sweetest  of  carols  from  twittering  bird. 

—Mattie  A.  W.  Clark. 


0>K< 


TWINKLE,  TWINKLE. 

TWINKLE,  twinkle,  little  star, 
Up  above  the  world  so  far, 
Whisper  now  and  tell  me,  pray, 
What  you  are,  and  how  you  stay." 

"  Some  of  us  away  so  far, 
Planets  like  your  own  earth  are, 
And  we  shine  with  borrowed  light, 
Borrowed  from  the  sun  so  bright ; 

"  Some  of  us  are  silvery  moons, 
Shining  all  the  nightly  noons  ; 
Some  of  us  are  jelly  soft, 
Shooting,  falling,  from  aloft ; 


SONGS   OF  AUTUMN.  24S 

"  Some  of  us  are  nebulae,  — 
Faint  and  misty  stars  we  be ; 
Some  are  suns  to  other  worlds ; 
Here  and  there  a  comet  whirls; 

"  Having  each  our  time  and  place, 
Swinging  in  the  wondrous  space ; 
Held  in  line  by  Him  who  planned, 
And  who  holds  you  in  His  hand." 

—  Mother  Truth 's  Melodies. 


>^c 


THE   NEW    MOON. 

DEAR  mother,  how  pretty 
The  moon  looks  to-night ! 
She  was  never  so  cunning  before ; 
Her  two  little  horns 
Are  so  sharp  and  bright, 
I  hope  she'll  not  grow  any  more. 

If  I  were  up  there, 

With  you  and  my  friends, 
I'd  rock  in  it  nicely,  you'd  see ; 

I'd  sit  in  the  middle 

And  hold  by  both  ends ; 
Oh,  what  a  bright  cradle  'twould  be ! 

I  would  call  to  the  stars 

To  keep  out  of  the  way, 
Lest  we  should  rock  over  their  toes ; 

And  then  I  would  rock 

Till  the  dawn  of  the  day, 
And  see  where  the  pretty  moon  goes. 


246  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

And  there  we  would  stay 

In  the  beautiful  skies ; 
And  through  the  bright  clouds  we  would  roam. 

We  would  see  the  sun  set, 

And  see  the  sun  rise, 
And  on  the  next  rainbow  come  home. 

—  Mrs.  Follen. 


A   NAUGHTY   LITTLE    COMET. 

THERE  was  a  little  comet  who  lived  near  the  Milky 
Way; 
She  loved  to  wander  out  at  night,  and  jump   about  and 
play. 

The  mother  of  the  comet  was  a  very  good  old  star ; 
She  used  to  scold  her  reckless  child  for  venturing  out  too 
far. 

She  told  her  of  the  ogre  Sun,  who  loved  on  stars  to  sup, 
And  who  asked  no  better  pastime  than  gobbling  comets  up. 

But  instead  of  growing  cautious,  and  of  showing  proper 

fear, 
The  foolish  little  comet  edged  up  nearer  and  more  near. 

She  switched  her  saucy  trail  along  right  where  the  sun 

could  see, 
And  flirted  with  old  Mars,  and  was  as  bold  as  bold  could  be. 

She  laughed  to  scorn  the  quiet   stars  who  never  frisked 

about ; 
She  said  there  was  no  fun  in  life  unless  you  ventured  out. 


SONGS   OF  AUTUMN.  247 

She  liked  to  make  the  planets  stare,  and  wished  no  better 

mirth 
Than  just  to  see  the  telescopes  aimed  at  her  from  the 

Earth. 

She  wondered  how  so  many  stars  could  mope  through 

nights  and  days, 
And  let  the  sickly-faced  old  Moon  get  all  the  love  and 

praise. 

And  as  she  talked  and  tossed  her  head  and  switched  her 

shining  trail, 
The  staid  old  mother-star  grew  sad,  her  cheek  grew  wan 

and  pale ; 

For  she  had  lived  there  in  the  skies   a  million  years   or 

more, 
And  she  had  heard  gay  comets  talk  in  just  this  way  before. 

And  by  and  by  there  came  an  end  to  this  gay  comet's  fun ; 
She  went  a  tiny  bit  too  far,  and  vanished  in  the  Sun ! 

But  quiet  stars  she  laughed  to  scorn  are  twinkling  every 

night. 

No  more  she  swings  her  shining  trail  before  the   whole 

world's  sight. 

—  Ella  Wheeler  Wilcox. 

NORSE    LULLABY. 

THE  sky  is  dark  and  the  hills  are  white, 
As  the  storm-king  speeds  from  the  north  to-night; 
And  this  is  the  song  the  storm-king  sings, 
As  over  the  world  his  cloak  he  flings : 


248  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

"  Sleep,  sleep,  little  one,  sleep  ;  " 
He  rustles  his  wings,  and  gruffly  sings : 
"  Sleep,  little  one,  sleep." 

On  yonder  mountain-side  a  vine 
Clings  at  the  foot  of  a  mother  pine ; 
The  tree  bends  over  the  trembling  thing 
And  only  the  vine  can  hear  her  sing : 

"  Sleep,  sleep,  little  one,  sleep  ; 
What  shall  you  fear  when  I  am  here  ? 
Sleep,  little  one,  sleep." 

The  king  may  sing  in  his  bitter  flight, 
The  tree  may  croon  to  the  vine  to-night, 
But  the  little  snowflake  at  my  breast 
Liketh  the  song  I  sing  the  best,  — 

Sleep,  sleep,  little  one,  sleep  ; 
Weary  thou  art,  anext  my  heart ; 
Sleep,  little  one,  sleep. 
—  Eugene  Field — A  Little  Book  of  Western  Verse. 


>XK< 


"HO,    FOR    SLUMBERLAND!" 

A  LITTLE  song  for  bedtime,  when,  robed  in  gowns  of 
white, 
All  sleepy  little  children  set  sail  across  the  night 
For   that   pleasant,    pleasant    country,   where   the    pretty 

dream-flowers  blow, 
'Twixt  the  sunset  and"  the  sunrise,  — 

"  For  the  Slumber  Islands,  ho  !  " 


SONGS   OF  AUTUMN.  249 

When  the  little  ones   get  drowsy,   and  heavy  lids   droop 

down 
To  hide  blue  eyes  and  black  eyes,  gray  eyes,  and  eyes  of 

brown, 
A  thousand  boats  for  Dreamland  are  waiting  in  a  row, 
And  the  ferrymen  are  calling, 

"  For  the  Slumber  Islands,  ho  !  " 

Then  the   sleepy   little   children  fill  the  boats   along  the 

shore, 
And  go  sailing  off  to  Dreamland ;  and  the  dipping  of  the 

oar 
In  the  sea  of  Sleep  makes  music  that  the  children  only 

know 
When  they  answer  to  the  boatmen's 

"  For  the  Slumber  Islands,  ho  !  " 

Oh  !  take  a  kiss,  my  darlings,  ere  you  sail  away  from  me 
In  the  boat  of  dreams  that's  waiting  to  bear  you  o'er  the 

sea; 
Take  a  kiss,  and  give  one,  and  then  away  you  go, 
A-sailing  into  Dreamland,  — 

"  For  the  Slumber  Islands,  ho!  " 
—  Eben  E.  Rexford — St.  Nicholas. 


>**c 


CAN   YOU    COUNT   THE   STARS? 

CAN  you  count  the  stars  that  brightly 
Twinkle  in  the  midnight  sky  ? 
Can  you  count  the  clouds,  so  lightly 
O'er  the  meadows  floating  by  ? 


250  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

God  the  Lord  doth  mark  their  number 
With  his  eyes  that  never  slumber. 
He  hath  made  them,  ev'ry  one. 

Do  you  know  how  many  children 

Rise  each  morning,  blithe  and  gay  ? 
Can  you  count  the  little  voices, 
Singing  sweetly,  day  by  day  ? 
God  hears  all  the  little  voices, 
In  their  pretty  songs  rejoices, 
He  doth  love  them,  ev'ry  one. 


Selected. 


SONGS   OF   WINTER. 


We  haven't  a  nest, 

Nor  a  place  of  rest, 

Save  this  oak-tree  bending  down. 


IP^I 

^g^^r^ 

Ml 

f)M\W3^/ 

OS 

WM 

SKr^l^ 

fifil© 

>^<Jv7^ 

Jr^f&^4@lt 

^S^L   (V^^-^-^jii^i) 

S'ff^^-     - 

\^^s2S2J 

r^t^- 

Songs  of  Winter. 


MORNING    HYMN. 


FATHER,  Thou  art  near  —  so  near 

Thy  children  while  they  work  or  play ; 
Thine  arms  enfold  us  tenderly, 

O  help  us  please  Thee  day  by  day !     ■ 

The  little  flowers  —  we  love  them  so  — 

Along  the  hillside  and  the  dell, 
With  faces  fair  upturned  to  Thee, 

Sweetly  to  us  Thy  goodness  tell. 

The  little  birds  that  love  to  trill 

Their  music  over  morn  and  night, 
The  breaking  waves  along  the  shore, 

Teach  us  to  praise  Thee  with  delight. 

The  snowflakes  dropping  down  from  heaven 

So  swiftly  and  so  silently, 
The  lilies  gleaming  on  the  lake, 

Teach  us  Thy  spotless  purity. 

Father,  all  things  together  sing  — 

The  earth  below,  the  skies  above, 
And  all  the  airs  that  round  us  breathe  — 

The  fullness  of  Thy  watchful  love. 


—  Selected. 


253 


254  NATURE   IN  VERSE. 


BIRD   WITH    BOSOM    RED. 

WHEN  the  winds  of  winter  blow, 
And  the  air  is  thick  with  snow, 
Drifting  over  hill  and  hollow, 
Whitening  all  the  naked  trees  — 
Then  the  bluebird  and  the  jay 
And  the  oriole  fly  away, 
Where  the  bobolink  and  swallow 
Flew  before  them,  at  their  ease. 

But  we  are  not  left  alone, 
Though  the  summer  birds  have  flown ; 
Though  the  honey-bees  have  vanished, 
And  the  katydids  are  dead ; 
Still  a  cheery,  ringing  note, 
From  a  dear,  melodious  throat, 
Tells  that  winter  has  not  banished 
Little  bird  with  bosom  red. 

Pipe  away,  you  happy  bird, 

Sweeter  song  I  never  heard ; 

For  it  seems  to  say  :  "  Remember 

God,  our  Father,  sits  above  — 

Though  the  world  is  full  of  wrong, 

Though  the  winter  days  are  long  — 

He  can  fill  the  bleak  December 

With  the  sunshine  of  His  love." 

— Selected 


SONGS   OF   WINTER.  255 


THE    FOUR   WINDS. 

IN  winter,  when  the  wind  I  hear, 
I  know  the  clouds  will  disappear ; 
For  'tis  the  wind  who  sweeps  the  sky 
And  piles  the  snow  in  ridges  high. 

In  spring,  when  stirs  the  wind,  I  know 
That  soon  the  crocus  buds  will  show ; 
For  'tis  the  wind  who  bids  them  wake 
And  into  pretty  blossoms  break. 

In  summer,  when  it  softly  blows, 
Soon  red,  I  know,  will  be  the  rose ; 
For  'tis  the  wind  to  her  who  speaks, 
And  brings  the  blushes  to  her  cheeks. 

In  autumn,  when  the  wind  is  up, 
I  know  the  acorn's  out  its  cup  ; 
For  'tis  the  wind  who  takes  it  out, 
And  plants  an  oak  somewhere  about. 

—  Frank  Dempster  Sherman. 


:>>*« 


WHAT   THE   WINDS    BRING. 

WHICH  is  the  wind  that  brings  the  cold  ?  " 
"  The  north  wind,  Freddy,  and  all  the  snow, 
And  the  sheep  will  scamper  into  the  fold 
When  the  north  begins  to  blow." 


256  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

"  Which  is  the  wind  that  brings  the  heat  ?  " 
"  The  south  wind,  Katy ;  and  corn  will  grow, 

And  peaches  redden  for  you  to  eat, 
When  the  south  begins  to  blow." 

"  Which  is  the  wind  that  brings  the  rain  ? " 
"  The  east  wind,  Arty  ;  and  farmers  know 

That  cows  come  shivering  up  the  lane, 
When  the  east  begins  to  blow." 

"  Which  is  the  wind  that  brings  the  flowers  ?  " 

"  The  west  wind,  Bessy  ;  and  soft  and  low 

The  birdies  sing  in  the  summer  hours, 

When  the  west  begins  to  blow." 

—  E.  C.  Stedman. 


■*&^ 


THE   FOG. 

WHAT  is  the  fog,  mamma  ?  " 
"  Sometimes  the  air  is  light, 
And  cannot  bear  up  all  the  mists, 
And  then  'tis  foggy,  quite ; 
But  when  air  heavier  grows, 
The  fog  is  borne  above, 
And  floated  off,  the  cloudy  stuff, 
Just  see  it,  graceful,  move." 

—  Mother  Truth's  Melodies. 


SONGS   OF   WINTER.  257 


THE   RAIN. 


"TTTHAT  makes  the  rain,  mamma?" 

*  »       "  The  mists  and  vapor  rise 
From  land  and  stream  and  rolling  sea, 
Up  toward  the  distant  skies ; 
And  there  they  form  the  clouds, 
Which,  when  they're  watery,  dear, 
Pour  all  the  water  down  to  earth, 
And  rain  afar  or  near." 

—  Mother  Truth'' s  Melodies. 


>x^< 


THE   LITTLE   ARTIST. 

OH,  there  is  a  little  artist 
Who  paints  in  the  cold  night  hours 
Pictures  for  wee,  wee  children, 
Of  wondrous  trees  and  flowers,  — 

Pictures  of  snow-capped  mountains 
Touching  the  snow-white  sky ; 

Pictures  of  distant  oceans, 
Where  pygmy  ships  sail  by ; 

Pictures  of  rushing  rivers, 

By  fairy  bridges  spanned  ; 
Bits  of  beautiful  landscapes, 

Copied  from  elfin  land. 


258  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

The  moon  is  the  lamp  he  paints  by, 
His  canvas  the  window-pane, 

His  brush  is  a  frozen  snowflake ; 
Jack  Frost  is  the  artist's  name. 


—  Selected. 


3XKC 


JACK    FROST. 

"POME  one  has  been  in  the  garden, 

^-^     Nipping  the  flowers  so  fair ; 
All  the  green  leaves  are  withered ; 

Now,  who  do  you  think  has  been  there  ? 

"  Some  one  has  been  in  the  forest, 

Cracking  the  chestnut  burrs ; 
Who  is  it  dropping  the  chestnuts, 

Whenever  a  light  wind  stirs  ? 

"  Some  one  has  been  on  the  hilltop, 
Chipping  the  moss-covered  rocks ; 

Who  has  been  cracking  and  breaking 
Them  into  fragments  and  blocks  ? 

"  Some  one  has  been  at  the  windows, 

Marking  on  every  pane ; 
Who  made  those  glittering  pictures 

Of  lace-work,  fir-trees,  and  grain? 

"  Some  one  is  all  the  time  working 

Out  on  the  pond  so  blue, 
Bridging  it  over  with  crystal ; 

Who  is  it,  now?     Can  you  tell  who? 


SONGS   OF   WINTER.  259 

"  While  his  good  bridge  he  is  building, 

We  will  keep  guard  at  the  gate ; 
And  when  he  has  it  all  finished, 

Hurrah  for  the  boys  that  can  skate ! 

"  Let  him  work  on  :  we  are  ready ; 

Not  much  for  our  fun  does  it  cost ! 
Three  cheers  for  the  bridge  he  is  making! 

And  three,  with  a  will,  for  Jack  Frost ! " 

—  Selected. 


>x*<< 


FROST   PICTURES. 

PICTURES  on  the  window, 
Painted  by  Jack  Frost, 
Coming  at  the  midnight, 

With  the  noon  are  lost ; 
Here  a  row  of  fir-trees, 

Standing  straight  and  tall; 
There  a  rapid  river, 
And  a  waterfall. 

Here  a  branch  of  coral 

From  the  briny  sea ; 
There  a  weary  traveler 

Resting  'neath  a  tree  ; 
Here  a  grand  old  iceberg, 

Floating  slowly  on ; 
There  a  mighty  forest 

Of  the  torrid  zone. 


260  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

Here  a  swamp,  all  tangled,  — 

Rushes,  ferns,  and  brake ; 
There  a  rugged  mountain, 

Here  a  little  lake. 
Then  a  breath,  the  lightest 

Floating  in  the  air, 
Jack  Frost  catches  quickly, 

And  imprints  it  there. 

And  thus  you  are  painting, 

Little  children,  too, 
On  your  life's  fair  window 

Always  something  new ; 
But  your  little  pictures 

Will  not  pass  away 
Like  those  Jack  Frost's  fingers 

Paint  each  winter  day. 

Each  kind  word  or  action 

Is  a  picture  bright; 
Every  duty  mastered 

Is  lovely  in  the  light; 
But  each  thought  of  anger, 

Every  word  of  strife, 
Blemishes  the  picture, 

Stains  the  glass  of  life. 

Then  be  very  careful, 

Every  day  and  hour, 
Lest  unseemly  touches 

Trace  your  window  o'er ; 
Let  the  lines  be  always 

Made  by  kindness  bright,  — 
Paint  your  glass  with  pictures 

Of  the  true  and  right. 


—  Selected. 


SONGS   OF   WINTER.  261 


THE   FROST. 


THE  Frost  looked  forth  one  still,  clear  night, 
And  whispered,  "  Now  I  shall  be  out  of  sight; 
So  through  the  valley  and  over  the  height, 

In  silence  I'll  take  my  way ; 
I  will  not  go  on  like  that  blustering  train, 
The  wind  and  the  snow,  the  hail  and  the  rain, 
Who  makes  so  much  bustle  and  noise  in  vain, 
But  I'll  be  as  busy  as  they !  " 

Then  he  flew  to  the  mountain,  and  powdered  its  crest ; 
He  lit  on  the  trees,  and  their  boughs  he  drest 
In  diamond  beads ;  and  over  the  breast 

Of  the  quivering  lake  he  spread 
A  coat  of  mail,  that  it  need  not  fear 
The  downward  point  of  many  a  spear, 
That  he  hung  on  its  margin,  far  and  near, 

Where  a  rock  could  rear  its  head. 

He  went  to  the  windows  of  those  who  slept, 
And  over  each  pane  like  a  fairy  crept ; 
Wherever  he  breathed,  wherever  he  stepped, 

By  the  light  of  the  morn  were  seen 
Most  beautiful  things  ;  there  were  flowers  and  trees ; 
There  were  bevies  of  birds  and  swarms  of  bees ; 
There  were  cities  with  temples  and  towers ;  and  these 

All  pictured  in  silver  sheen ! 

But  he  did  one  thing  that  was  hardly  fair,  — 
He  peeped  in  the  cupboard,  and  finding  there 
That  all  had  forgotten  for  him  to  prepare, 
"  Now,  just  to  set  them  a-thinking, 


262  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

I'll  bite  this  basket  of  fruit,"  said  he, 
"  This  costly  pitcher  I'll  burst  in  three ; 
And  the  glass  of  water  they've  left  for  me 
Shall  '  tchick  ! '  to  tell  them  I'm  drinking  !  " 

—  Hannah  F.  Gould. 


>**:< 


LITTLE   SNOWFLAKES. 

THE  snowflakes  fall  so  gently, 
You  ne'er  can  hear  a  sound, 
As  sailing  through  the  frosty  air 

They  nestle  on  the  ground. 
They  form  a  carpet,  soft  and  white, 

For  merry  little  feet, 
While  cheeks  grow  round  and  rosy, 
And  laughter  is  so  sweet. 

Some  children  are  like  snowflakes,  — 

Their  step  is  light  and  low, 
And  when  they  walk  from  place  to  place, 

You  ne'er  can  hear  them  go. 
Oh,  let  us  be  like  snowflakes, 

So  soft  and  pure  and  bright, 

And  when  God  looks  into  our  souls, 

He'll  see  a  pleasing  sight. 

—M.M. 


H 


SONGS   OF   WINTER.  263 


HELP   ONE   ANOTHER. 

"  TTELP  one  another,"  the  snowflakes  said, 

i-  J-     As  they  cuddled  down  in  their  fleecy  bed. 
"  One  of  us  here  would  not  be  felt, 
One  of  us  here  would  quickly  melt ; 
But  I'll  help  you,  and  you  help  me, 
And  then  what  a  splendid  drift  there'll  be." 

"  Help  one  another,"  the  maple  spray 

Said  to  .its  fellow-leaves  one  day ; 

"  The  sun  would  wither  me  here  alone, 

Long  enough  ere  the  day  is  gone ; 

But  I'll  help  you,  and  you  help  me, 

And  then  what  a  splendid  shade  there'll  be." 

"  Help  one  another,"  the  dewdrop  cried, 

Seeing  another  drop  close  to  its  side ; 

"  The  warm  south  wind  would  dry  me  away, 

And  I  should  be  gone  ere  noon  to-day ; 

But  I'll  help  you,  and  you  help  me, 

And  we'll  make  a  brook  and  run  to  the  sea." 

"  Help  one  another,"  a  grain  of  sand 
Said  to  another  grain  close  at  hand ; 
"  The  wind  may  carry  me  over  the  sea, 
And  then,  oh,  what  will  become  of  me  ? 
But  come,  my  brother,  give  me  your  hand, 
We'll  build  a  mountain  and  then  we'll  stand." 

And  so  the  snowflakes  grew  to  drifts  ; 

The  grains  of  sand  to  a  mountain ; 

The  leaves  became  a  summer  shade ; 

The  dewdrops  fed  a  fountain. 

—  Selected. 


264  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 


LITTLE    SNOWFLAKES. 


Selected. 


STILL  and  gentle  all  around, 
Little  snowflakes,  soft  and  light 
One  by  one  spread  o'er  the  ground, 
Making  it  a  fleecy  white. 

As  we  watch  these  little  flakes, 
Falling  down  so  small  and  light, 

Who  would  think  so  few  it  takes 
Thus  to  form  this  robe  of  white  ? 

Just  like  them  are  duties  done, 
Still  and  gentle,  every  hour ; 

Smallest  deeds,  we  early  learn, 
Give  to  life  its  greatest  power. 


>>k< 


THE    FIRST    SNOW. 

THE  north  wind  doth  blow,  and  we  shall  have  snow, 
And  what  will  poor  robin  do  then,  poor  thing  ? 
He'll  sit  in  the  barn  and  keep  himself  warm, 
And  hide  his  head  under  his  wing,  poor  thing. 

The  north  wind  doth  blow,  and  we  shall  have^snow, 
And  what  will  the  honey  bee  do,  poor  thing  ? 

In  his  hive  he  will  stay  till  the  cold's  passed  away, 
And  then  he'll  come  out  in  the  spring,  poor  thing. 


SONGS   OF   WINTER.  265 

The  north  wind  doth  blow,  and  we  shall  have  snow, 
And  what  will  the  dormouse  do  then,  poor  thing  ? 

Rolled  up  like  a  ball  in  his  nest,  snug  and  small, 

He'll  sleep  till  warm  weather  comes  back,  poor  thing. 

The  north  wind  doth  blow,  and  we  shall  have  snow, 
And  what  will  the  children  do  then,  poor  things  ? 

When  lessons  are  done  they'll  jump,  skip,  and  run, 

And  that's    how  they'll   keep   themselves  warm,  poor 

things. 

—  Selected. 


THE  SNOW-SHOWER. 

"  PEE,  mamma,  the  crumbs  are  flying 
O     Fast  and  thickly  through  the  air ; 
On  the  branches  they  are  lying, 
On  the  walks  and  everywhere. 
Oh,  how  glad  the  birds  will  be, 
When  so  many  crumbs  they  see." 

"  No,  my  little  girl,  'tis  snowing, 
Nothing  for  the  birds  is  here ; 

Very  cold  the  air  is  growing, 
'Tis  the  winter  of  the  year ; 

Frost  will  nip  the  robins'  food, 

'Twill  no  more  be  sweet  and  good. 

"  See  the  clouds  the  skies  that  cover, 
'Tis  from  them  the  snowflakes  fall, 

Whitening  hills  and  fields  all  over, 
Hanging  from  the  fir-trees  tall. 

Were  it  warm,  'twould  rain  ;  but  lo  ! 

Frost  has  changed  the  rain  to  snow." 


266  NATURE   IN  VERSE. 

"  If  the  robins  food  are  needing, 
Oh,  I  hope  to  me  they'll  come; 

I  should  like  to  see  them  feeding, 
On  the  window  of  my  room ; 

I'll  divide  with  them  my  store; 

Much  I  wish  I  could  do  more." 

—  Mary  Lundie  Duncan. 


3>0<C 


LITTLE    SHIPS    IN    THE   AIR. 

"   I   "LAKES  of  snow,  with  sails  so  white, 
JL      Drifting  down  the  wintry  skies, 

Tell  me  where  your  route  begins, 
Say  which  way  your  harbor  lies  ? " 

"  In  the  clouds,  the  roomy  clouds, 
Arching  earth  with  shadowy  dome, 

There's  the  port  from  which  we  sail, 
There  is  tiny  snowflake's  home." 

"  And  the  cargo  that  you  take 
From  those  cloudy  ports  above  — 

Is  it  always  meant  to  bless, 
Sent  in  anger  or  in  love  ?  " 

"  Warmth  for  all  the  tender  roots, 
Warmth  for  every  living  thing, 

Water  for  the  rivers'  flow, 

This  the  cargo  that  we  bring." 

"  Who's  the  Master  that  you  serve, 
Bids  you  lift  your  tiny  sails, 


SONGS   OF   WINTER.  267 

Brings  you  safely  to  the  earth, 

Guides  you  through  the  wintry  gales  ?  " 

"  He  who  tells  the  birds  to  sing, 

He  who  sends  the  April  flowers, 
He  who  ripens  all  the  fruit, 

That  great  Master,  he  is  ours." 

—  E.  A.  Rand. 


>X*c 


THE   SNOW-SHOWER. 

STAND  here  by  my  side  and  turn,  I  pray, 
On  the  lake  below  thy  gentle  eyes ; 
The  clouds  hang  over  it  heavy  and  gray, 

And  dark  and  silent  the  water  lies ; 
And  out  of  that  frozen  mist  the  snow, 
In  wavering  flakes,  begins  to  flow ; 

Flake  after  flake, 
They  sink  in  the  dark  and  silent  lake. 

See  how  in  a  living  swarm  they  come 

From  the  chambers  beyond  that  misty  veil ; 

Some  hover  awhile  in  air,  and  some 

Rush  prone  from  the  sky  like  summer  hail. 

All,  dropping  swiftly,  or  settling  slow, 

Meet,  and  are  still  in  the  depths  below ; 
Flake  after  flake, 

Dissolved  in  the  dark  and  silent  lake. 

Here  delicate  snow-stars,  out  of  the  cloud, 
Come  floating  downward  in  airy  play, 


268  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

Like  spangles  dropped  from  the  glistening  crowd, 

That  whiten  by  night  the  milky  way ; 
There  broader  and  burlier  masses  fall ; 
The  sullen  water  buries  them  all  — 

Flake  after  flake  — 
All  drowned  in  the  dark  and  silent  lake. 

And  some,  as  on  tender  wings  they  glide 
From  their  chilly  birth-cloud,  dim  and  gray, 

Are  joined  in  their  fall,  and,  side  by  side, 
Come  clinging  along  their  unsteady  way ; 

As  friend  with  friend,  or  husband  with  wife, 

Makes  hand  in  hand  the  passage  of  life ; 
Each  mated  flake 

Soon  sinks  in  the  dark  and  silent  lake. 

Lo !  while  we  are  gazing,  in  swifter  haste 
Stream  down  the  snows,  till  the  air  is  white, 

As,  myriads  by  myriads  madly  chased, 

They  fling  themselves  from  their  shadowy  height. 

The  fair  frail  creatures  of  middle  sky, 

What  speed  they  make,  with  their  grave  so  nigh; 
Flake  after  flake, 

To  lie  in  the  dark  and  silent  lake ! 

I  see  in  thy  gentle  eyes  a  tear ; 

They  turn  to  me  in  sorrowful  thought ; 
Thou  thinkest  of  friends,  the  good  and  dear, 

Who  were  for  a  time,  and  now  are  not ; 
Like  those  fair  children  of  cloud  and  frost, 
That  glisten  a  moment  and  then  are  lost, 

Flake  after  flake  — 
All  lost  in  the  dark  and  silent  lake. 


SONGS   OF   WINTER.  269 

Yet  look  again,  for  the  clouds  divide ; 
A  gleam  of  blue  on  the  water  lies ; 
And  far  away,  on  the  mountain  side, 

A  sunbeam  falls  from  the  opening  skies. 
But  the  hurrying  host  that  flew  between 
The  cloud  and  the  water,  no  more  is  seen ; 

Flake  after  flake, 
At  rest  in  the  dark  and  silent  lake. 

—  William  Cullen  Bryant. 


J&fr 


THE   SNOW-STORM. 

WE  are  free  !  we  are  free  !  the  snowflakes  cried, 
Hurrah  !  hurrah  !  away  we  hide. 
Now  we're  whirling,  and  twirling,  and  dancing  around, 
And  gently  sinking  to  the  ground. 
The  jolly  north  wind  !  how  he  makes  us  fly, 
And  whistles  the  tune  we  are  dancing  by. 
We  cover  the  valleys,  we  cover  the  hills, 
We  bury  the  flowers  and  frozen  rills, 
We're  dashing  out  this  way,  and  that  way  again, 
We're  dashing  against  the  window  pane. 
Then  away,  away,  away,  away, 
We'll  make  a  track  for  the  merry  sleigh; 
We're  drifting  high,  ah  !  ah !  here's  fun 
For  the  boys  and  girls 
When  school  is  done. 

Now  we're  whirling,  and  twirling,  and  dancing  around, 
And  gently  sinking  to  the  ground. 

—  Selected. 


270  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 


THE    DISAPPOINTED    SNOWFLAKES. 

FOUR  and  twenty  snowflakes  came  tumbling  from  the 
sky, 
And  said,  "  Let's  make  a  snow  drift  — 

We  can  if  we  but  try." 
So  down  they  gently  fluttered 

And  lighted  on  the  ground, 
And  when  they  were  all  seated 

They  sadly  looked  around. 
"We're  very  few  indeed,"  sighed  they, 

"  And  we  sometimes  make  mistakes ; 
We  cannot  make  a  snowdrift 

With  four  and  twenty  flakes." 
Just  then  the  sun  peeped  round  a  cloud 

And  smiled  at  the  array, 

And  the  disappointed  snowflakes 

Melted  quietly  away. 

—  Selected. 

IT    SNOWS!     IT   SNOWS! 

IT  snows  !  yes,  it  snows  !  and  the  children  are  wild, 
At  thought  of  the  fun  in  the  snow-drifts  up-piled; 
The  boy  with  his  first  new  boots  is  in  sight, 
And  the  wee  baby-girl,  with  her  mittens  so  bright. 
They  are  tramping  and  tossing  the  snow  as  they  run, 
And  laughing  and  shouting,  so  brimful  of  fun ; 
While  the  ten-year-old  twins,  in  a  somersault  mood, 
Have  measured  their  length  from  the  barn  to  the  wood, 
A  dozen  times,  yes,  or  it  may  be  a  score, 
Till  their  cheeks  are  as  red  as  the  roses,  and  more ; 


SONGS   OF   WINTER.  271 

Then  the  elfin  of  twelve  and  the  boy  of  fifteen 
Are  pelting  each  other  with  snowballs  so  keen, 
That  we,  who  are  older,  forget  to  be  staid, 
And  shout,  each  with  each,  as  the  youngsters,  arrayed 
In  feathery  garments,  press  on  or  retreat, 
Determined  to  win,  nor  acknowledge  defeat. 
But  the  children,  at  length,  tired  out  with  their  play? 
And  stamping  the  snow  from  their  feet  by  the  way, 
Come  slipping  and  stumbling  and  scrambling  along, 
While  the  big  brother  catching  the  baby-girl's  song, 
"  Oh,  my  finders  are  told !  "  gives  her  now  a  gay  toss, 
The  golden  hair  streaming  like  distaff  of  floss ;  — 
And  so  cheery  the  group  that  is  ranged  round  the  board, 
That  for  snow,  blessed  snow,  we  all  thank  the  good  Lord. 

—  Mother  Truth's  Melodies. 

SNOW. 

SNOW  so  fair, 
Snow  so  fair, 
Whirling  through  the  wintry  air  ! 
Dropping  down, 
Dropping  down, 
On  the  busy  town, 
Do  you,  white-robed  fairies,  say, 
Dance  in  honor  of  the  day  ? 
Snow  so  fair, 
Snow  so  fair, 
Dancing  through  the  air ! 

Wind  so  cold, 
Wind  so  cold, 
Did  you  know  this  hero  bold  ?  « 


272  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

Breezes  strong, 

Breezes  strong, 

Sweeping  swift  along, 

Do  your  trumpets  blow  for  him, 

In  the  forests  dark  and  dim  ? 

Breezes  strong, 

Breezes  strong, 

Sweeping  swift  along. 

Pretty  star, 

Pretty  star, 

Beaming  at  us  from  afar, 

Smiling  down, 

Smiling  down, 

On  the  busy  town, 

Have  you  lit  your  lamp  so  bright 

Just  in  honor  of  the  night  ? 

Pretty  star, 

Pretty  star, 

Beaming  from  afar. 

—  A.  E.  C.  —  Popular  Educator. 


>>©<< 


THE   SNOW-BIRD. 

IN  the  morning  light  trills  the  gay  swallow, 
The  thrush  in  the  roses  below, 
The  meadow-lark  sings  in  the  meadow, 
And  the  snow-bird  sings  in  the  snow. 
"  Twee  wee ! 
Chickadee ! " 
The  snow-bird  sings  in  the  snow. 


SONGS   OF   WINTER.  273 

The  blue  martin  trills  in  the  gable, 
The  wren  on  the  ground  below, 
In  the  elm  flutes  the  golden  robin, 
But  the  snow-bird  sings  in  the  snow. 
"  Twee  wee  ! 
Chickadee ! " 
The  snow-bird  sings  in  the  snow. 

High  wheels  the  gray  wing  of  the  osprey, 

The  wing  of  the  sparrow  drops  low, 
In  the  mist  dips  the  wing  of  the  robin, 
And  the  snow-bird's  wing  in  the  snow. 
"  Twee  wee  ! 
Chickadee ! " 
The  snow-bird  sings  in  the  snow. 

I  love  the  high  heart  of  the  osprey, 

The  meek  heart  of  the  thrush  below, 
The  heart  of  the  lark  in  the  meadow, 
And  the  snow-bird's  heart  in  the  snow ; 
But  dearest  to  me 
"  Chickadee !  Chickadee!" 
Is  that  true  little  heart  in  the  snow. 


—  Selected. 


D^C 


THE   SNOW-BIRD'S    SONG. 

'T^HE  ground  was  all  covered  with  snow  one  day, 

-L       And  two  little  sisters  were  busy  at  play, 
When  a  snow-bird  came  flitting  close  by  on  a  tree, 
And  merrily  singing  his  chick-a-dee-dee, 

Chick-a-dee-dee,  chick-a-dee-dee, 
And  merrily  singing  his  chick-a-dee-dee. 


274  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

He  had  not  been  singing  that  tune  very  long, 
Ere  Emily  heard  him,  so  loud  was  his  song ; 
"  Oh,  sister,  look  out  of  the  window,"  said  she, 
"  Here's  a  dear  little  bird  singing  chick-a-dee-dee. 

Chick-a-dee-dee,  chick-a-dee-dee, 
And  merrily  singing  his  chick-a-dee-dee. 

"  Oh,  mother,  do  get  him  some  stockings  and  shoes, 

And  a  nice  little  frock,  and  a  hat  if  you  choose ; 

I  wish  he'd  come  into  the  parlor,  and  see 

How  warm  we  would  make  him,  poor  chick-a-dee-dee." 

Chick-a-dee-dee,  chick-a-dee-dee, 
And  merrily  singing  his  chick-a-dee-dee. 

"  There  is  One,  my  dear  child,  though  I  cannot  tell  who, 
Has  clothed  me  already,  and  warm  enough  too. 
Good  morning  !  Oh,  who  are  so  happy  as  we  ?  " 
And  away  he  went  singing  his  chick-a-dee-dee. 

Chick-a-dee-dee,  chick-a-dee-dee, 
And  merrily  singing  his  chick-a-dee-dee. 

—  F.  C.  Woodward. 


WAITING   TO   GROW. 

LITTLE  white  snowdrop  just  waking  up, 
Violet,  daisy,  and  sweet  buttercup, 
Think  of  the  flowers  that  are  under  the  snow, 
Waiting  to  grow  ! 

And  think  what  a  number  of  queer  little  seeds, 
Of  flowers  and  mosses,  of  ferns  and  of  weeds, 
Are  under  the  leaves  and  under  the  snow, 
Waiting  to  grow ! 


SONGS   OF    WINTER.  275 

Think  of  the  roots  getting  ready  to  sprout, 
Reaching  their  slender  brown  fingers  about, 
Under  the  ice  and  the  leaves  and  the  snow, 
Waiting  to  grow ! 

No  seed  is  so  small,  or  hidden  so  well, 

That  God  cannot  find  it ;  and  soon  he  will  tell 

His  sun  where  to  shine,  and  his  rain  where  to  go, 

Making  it  grow  ! 

—  Selected. 


dX^c 


COME   HERE,    LITTLE    ROBIN. 

COME  here,  little  Robin,  and  don't  be  afraid, 
I  would  not  hurt  even  a  feather ; 
Come  here,  little  Robin,  and  pick  up  some  bread, 
To  feed  you  this  very  cold  weather. 

I  don't  mean  to  hurt  you,  you  poor  little  thing ! 

And  Pussy  cat  is  not  behind  me ; 
So  hop  about  pretty,  and  put  down  your  wing, 

And  pick  up  the  crumbs,  and  don't  mind  me. 

Cold  winter  is  come,  but  it  will  not  last  long, 
And  summer  we  soon  shall  be  greeting ; 

Then  remember,  sweet  Robin,  to  sing  me  a  song, 
In  return  for  the  breakfast  you're  eating. 

—  Easy  Poetry. 


* 


276  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 


WHAT   THE    SNOW-BIRDS    SAID. 

"  /^HEEP,  cheep,"  said  some  little  snow-birds, 
V.^     As  the  snow  came  whirling  down ; 
"  We  haven't  a  nest, 
Or  a  place  of  rest, 
Save  this  oak-tree  bending  down." 

"  Cheep,  cheep,"  said  little  Wee-Wing, 
The  smallest  bird  of  all ; 

"  I  have  never  a  care, 

In  the  winter  air  — 
God  cares  for  great  and  small." 

"Peep,  peep,"  said  her  father,  Gray-Breast, 
You're  a  thoughtless  bird,  my  dear. 

We  all  must  eat, 

And  warm  our  feet, 
When  snow  and  ice  are  here." 

"Cheep,  cheep,"  said  little  Wee- Wing, 
"You  are  wise  and  good,  I  know; 

But  think  of  the  fun 

For  each  little  one, 
When  we  have  ice  and  snow. 

"  Now  I  can  see,  from  my  perch  on  the  tree, 
The  merriest,  merriest  sight  — 

Boys  skating  along 

On  the  ice  so  strong  — 
Cheep,  cheep,  how  merry  and  bright !  " 


SONGS   OF   WINTER.  277 

"  And  I  see,"  said  Brownie  Snow-bird, 
"  A  sight  that  is  prettier,  far  — 

Five  dear  little  girls, 

With  clustering  curls, 
And  eyes  as  bright  as  a  star." 

"  And  I,"  said  his  brother  Bright-Eyes, 
"  See  a  man  of  ice  and  snow; 

He  wears  a  queer  hat, 

His  large  nose  is  flat  — 
The  little  boys  made  him,  I  know." 

"  I  see  some  sleds,"  said  Mother  Brown, 
"  All  filled  with  girls  and  boys ; 
They  laugh  and  sing, 
Their  voices  ring, 
And  I  like  the  cheerful  noise." 

Then  the  snow-birds  all  said,  "  Cheep  and  chee, 
Hurrah  for  ice  and  snow  ; 

For  the  girls  and  boys, 
Who  drop  us  crumbs, 
As  away  to  their  sport  they  go  ! 

"  Hurrah  for  the  winter,  clear  and  cold, 
When  the  dainty  snowflakes  fall ! 
We  will  sit  and  sing, 
On  our  oaken  swing, 
For  God  takes  care  of  us  all!  " 

— Selected. 


278  NATURE  IN   VERSE. 


OUR   SIR    ROBIN. 


WHEN  icicles  shine  so  bright, 
Telling  of  cold  weather, 
Then  we  see  Sir  Robin  bright, 

Rich  in  scarlet  feather. 
Sharp  brown  eyes,  and  sober  suit, 
Robin's  voice  is  ever  mute  — 
Pretty  winter  Robin ! 

When  the  rosebuds  are  in  bloom, 

Telling  summer's  near, 
Then  we  hear  the  voice  of  Robin 

Singing  loud  and  clear. 
Of  all  wildwood  birds,  the  best, 
Robin  of  the  red,  red  breast  — 
Pretty  winter  robin ! 


>X*c 


—  Selected. 


THE   CHRISTMAS    SILENCE. 

HUSHED  are  the  pigeons  cooing  low, 
On  dusty  rafters  of  the  loft; 
And  mild-eyed  oxen,  breathing  soft, 
Sleep  on  the  fragrant  hay  below. 

Dim  shadows  in  the  corner  hide ; 

The  glimmering  lantern's  rays  are  shed 
Where  one  young  lamb  just  lifts  his  head, 

Then  huddles  against  his  mother's  side. 


SONGS   OF   WINTER.  279 

Strange  silence  tingles  in  the  air ; 
Through  the  half-open  door  a  bar 
Of  light  from  one  low  hanging  star 

Touches  a  baby's  radiant  hair  — 

No  sound  —  the  mother,  kneeling,  lays 

Her  cheek  against  the  little  face. 

Oh,  human  love !  Oh,  heavenly  grace ! 
'Tis  yet  in  silence  that  she  prays ! 

Ages  of  silence  end  to-night; 

Then  to  the  long-expectant  earth 
Glad  angels  come  to  greet  His  birth 

In  burst  of  music,  love,  and  light ! 

—  Margaret  Deland. 


^c 


MERRY   CHRISTMAS. 

IN  the  hush  of  early  morning, 
When  the  red  burns  through  the  gray, 
And  the  wintry  world  lies  waiting 

For  the  glory  of  the  day, 
Then  we  hear  a  fitful  rustling 
Just  without  upon  the  stair, 
See  two  small  white  phantoms  coming, 
Catch  the  gleam  of  sunny  hair. 

Are  they  Christmas  fairies  stealing 

Rows  of  little  socks  to  fill  ? 
Are  they  angels  floating  hither 

With  their  message  of  good-will  ? 


280  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

What  sweet  spells  are  these  elves  weaving, 

As  like  larks  they  chirp  and  sing  ? 
Are  these  palms  of  peace  from  heaven 

That  these  lovely  spirits  bring  ? 

v. 

Rosy  feet  upon  the  threshold, 

Eager  faces  peeping  through, 
With  the  first  red  ray  of  sunshine, 

Chanting  cherubs  come  in  view ; 
Mistletoe  and  gleaming  holly, 

Symbols  of  a  blessed  day, 
In  their  chubby  hands  they  carry, 

Streaming  all  along  the  way. 

Well  we  know  them,  never  weary 

Of  this  innocent  surprise ; 
Waiting,  watching,  listening  always, 

With  full  hearts  and  tender  eyes, 
While  our  little  household  angels, 

White  and  golden  in  the  sun, 
Greet  us  with  the  sweet  old  welcome,  — 

"  Merry  Christmas,  every  one  !  " 


•  Selected. 


aXXc 


HOLLY. 

NOT  one  pretty  flower  would  stay, 
When  old  Autumn  nipped  the  grass ; 
For  she  had  a  cruel  way, 

Though  as  red-cheeked  as  a  lass. 
Winter  had  our  Northland  taken, 
Her  white  flags  by  wind  outshaken. 


SONGS   OF   WINTER.  281 

What  then  was  there  bright  enough 

For  the  merry  Christmas  Day  ? 
"  Good  Dame  Nature,  be  less  rough," 
Said  the  folks,  "  leave  storms,  we  pray ; 
Bring  some  posies  and  be  cheery, 
Lest  she  find  the  world  too  dreary." 

"  What  are  posies  in  the  gleam 

Of  my  beautiful  white  frost  ?  " 
Said  the  old  dame  from  her  dream. 
"  By  the  hedge  all  snow-embossed, 

Bloom  itself  the  glad  day  carries," 
And  she  held  up  holly  berries. 

How  their  scarlet  brightness  shone 

In  the  morning's  airy  tracks ! 
Nature  is  a  wise  old  crone ; 

She  knows  what  a  picture  lacks. 
Winter  lost  its  melancholy  ; 
Christmas  laughed  to  see  the  holly. 

Since  that  hour,  now  far  away, 

When  Time's  tired  wing  was  light, 
In  the  path  of  Christmas  Day 
Always  shine  the  berries  bright ; 
And  'mid  all  its  tender  folly, 
Gleams  the  blush  of  Christmas  holly. 

—  Susan  Hartley. 


282  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 


SAID   TULIP,    "THAT    IS    SO." 

ONE  Christmas  time  some  roots  and  bulbs, 
That  lived  far  under  ground, 
Began  to  talk  so  softly  that 

Above  was  heard  no  sound. 
Said  Hyacinth,  "  It  seems  a  shame 

That  we  should  have  no  share 
In  all  the  fun  that's  going  on  ; 

It  really  is  not  fair. 
We  hear  the  merry,  jingling  bells, 

As  sleighs  fly  o'er  the  snow, 
But  cannot  see  a  single  thing." 

Said  Tulip,  "  That  is  so." 

Said  Crocus,  "  I  would  like  my  dress 

Of  shining  gold  to  don." 
Said  Scilla,  "  O,  I  wish  I  could 

My  bright  blue  gown  put  on." 
"And  much  I  long  to  join  the  dance> 

For  none  can  rival  me 
In  grace,  the  wind  has  oft  declared," 

Said  fair  Anemone. 
"  And  would,"  Narcissus  said,  "  I  might 

My  silver  trumpet  blow  ; 
'Twould  glad,  I'm  sure,  the  Christmas  green." 

Said  Tulip,  "  That  is  so." 

Then  spoke  the  Snowdrop,  "  Cease  to  wish, 

For  wishes  are  in  vain ; 
Here  must  we  stay  until  we're  called 

Above  the  ground  again. 


SONGS   OF   WINTER.  283 

The  blessing  of  a  perfect  rest 

At  Christmas  time  is  ours, 
That  we  may  gather  strength  to  deck 

The  earth,  in  spring,  with  flowers ; 
So  sleep  again,  my  sisters,  dear, 

Till  it  is  time  to  grow, 

And  all  your  dreams  shall  pleasant  be." 

Said  Tulip,  "That  is  so." 

—  Madge  Elliot. 


**?< 


WINTER   APPLES. 

WHAT  cheer  is  there  that  is  half  so  good, 
In  the  snowy  waste  of  a  winter  night, 
As  a  dancing  fire  of  hickory  wood, 
And  an  easy-chair  in  its  mellow  light, 
And  a  pearmain  apple,  ruddy  and  sleek, 
Or  a  jenetting  with  a  freckled  cheek? 

A  russet  apple  is  fair  to  view, 

With  a  tanny  tint  like  an  autumn  leaf, 
The  warmth  of  a  ripen'd  corn-field's  hue, 
Or  golden  hint  of  a  harvest  sheaf ; 

And  the  wholesome  breath  of  the  finished  year 
Is  held  in  a  winecup's  blooming  sphere. 

They  bring  you  a  thought  of  the  orchard  trees, 

In  blossomy  April  and  leafy  June, 
And  the  sleeepy  droning  of  bumble-bees 
In  the  lazy  light  of  the  afternoon, 
And  tangled  clover  and  bobolinks, 
Tiger-lilies  and  garden  pinks. 


284  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

If  you've  somewhere  left,  with  its  gable  wide, 

A  farm-house  set  in  an  orchard  old, 
You'll  see  it  all  in  the  winter-tide, 

At  sight  of  a  pippin's  green  and  gold, 
Or  a  pearmain  apple,  ruddy  and  sleek, 
Or  a  jenetting  with  a  freckled  cheek. 

—  Hattie  Whitney  — St.  Nicholas. 


>X*c 


DANCE   OF   THE    MONTHS. 

THE  New  Year  comes  in  with  shout  and  laughter, 
And  see,  twelve  months  are  following  after ! 
First  January  all  in  white, 
And  February  short  and  bright ; 
See  breezy  March  go  tearing  round; 
But  tearful  April  makes  no  sound. 
May  brings  a  pole  with  flowers  crowned, 
And  June  strews  roses  on  the  ground. 
A  pop  !  A  bang  !  July  comes  in  ; 
Says  August,  "What  a  dreadful  din  !  " 
September  brings  her  golden  sheaves ; 
October  waves  her  pretty  leaves, 
While  pale  November  waits  to  see 
December  bring  the  Christmas  tree. 
They  join  their  hands  to  make  a  ring, 
And  as  they  dance  they  merrily  sing, 
"  Twelve  months  we  are,  you  see  us  here, 
We  make  the  circle  of  the  year. 
We  dance  and  sing,  and  children  hear, 

We  wish  you  all  a  glad  New  Year." 

—  Selected. 


SONGS   OF   WINTER.  285 

THE   LITTLE    PINE-TREE. 

(From  the  German.) 

ONCE  a  little  Pine-tree, 
In  the  forest  ways, 
Sadly  sighed  and  murmured, 
Through  the  summer  days. 
"  I  am  clad  in  needles  — 

Hateful  things  !  "  he  cried  ; 
"  All  the  trees  about  me 
Laugh  in  scornful  pride. 

Broad  their  leaves  and  fair  to  see ; 
Worthless  needles  cover  me. 


"  Ah,  could  I  have  chosen, 

Then,  instead  of  these, 
Shining  leaves  should  crown  me, 

Shaming  all  the  trees. 
Broad  as  theirs  and  brighter, 

Dazzling  to  behold ; 
All  of  gleaming  silver  — 

Aye,  of  burnished  gold. 

Then  the  rest  would  weep  and  sigh ; 
None  would  be  so  fine  as  I." 

Slept  the  little  Pine-tree 

When  the  night  came  down, 
While  the  leaves  he  wished  for 

Budded  on  his  crown. 
All  the  forest  wondered 

At  the  dawn,  to  see 


286  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

What  a  golden  fortune 
Decked  this  little  tree. 

Then  he  sang  and  laughed  aloud ; 
Glad  was  he  and  very  proud. 

Foolish  little  Pine-tree  ! 

At  the  close  of  day, 
Thro'  the  gloomy  twilight 

Came  a  thief  that  way. 
Soon  the  treasure  vanished ; 

Sighed  the  Pine,  "  Alas  ! 
Would  that  I  had  chosen 

Leaves  of  crystal  glass." 
Long  and  bitterly  he  wept, 
But  with  night  again  he  slept. 

Gladly  in  the  dawning, 

Did  he  wake  to  find 
That  the  gentle  fairies 

Had  again  been  kind. 
How  his  blazing  crystals 

Lit  the  morning  air! 
Never  had  the  forest 

Seen  a  sight  so  fair. 

Then  a  driving  storm  did  pass ; 
All  his  leaves  were  shattered  glass. 

Humbly  said  the  Pine-tree, 

"  I  have  learned  'tis  best 
Not  to  wish  for  fortunes 

Fairer  than  the  rest. 
Glad  were  I,  and  thankful, 

If  I  might  be  seen 


SONGS   OF   WINTER.  287 

Like  the  trees  about  me, 
Clad  in  tender  green." 

Once  again  he  slumbered,  sad  ; 
Once  again  his  wish  he  had. 

Broad  his  leaves  and  fragrant, 

Rich  were  they  and  fine, 
Till  a  goat  at  noon-day 

Halted  there  to  dine. 
Then  her  kids  came  skipping 

Round  the  fated  tree  ; 
All  his  leaves  could  scarcely 

Make  a  meal  for  three. 

Every  tender  bud  was  nipt, 

Every  branch  and  twig  was  stripped 

Then  the  wretched  Pine-tree 

Cried  in  deep  despair, 
"  Would  I  had  my  needles ; 

They  were  green  and  fair. 
Never  would  I  change  them," 

Sighed  the  little  tree ; 
"Just  as  nature  gave  them 
They  were  best  for  me." 

Then  he  slept,  and  waked,  and  found 
All  his  needles  safe  and  sound. 

—  Eudora  S.  Bu?nstead. 


288  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

PINE   NEEDLE. 

IF  Mother  Nature  patches  the  leaves  of  trees  and  vines, 
I'm  sure  she  does  her  darning  with  the  needles  of  the 
pines, 
They  are  so  long  and  slender  ;  and  somewhere  in  full  view, 
She  has  her  threads  of  cobweb,  and  a  thimble  made  of 
dew. 


—  Selected. 


>x*:< 


THREE  TREES. 

THE  pine-tree  grew  in  the  wood, 
Tapering,  straight,  and  high; 
Stately  and  proud  it  stood, 

Black-green  against  the  sky. 
Crowded  so  close,  it  sought  the  blue, 
And  ever  upward  it  reached  and  grew. 

The  oak-tree  stood  in  the  field. 

Beneath  it  dozed  the  herds  ; 
It  gave  to  the  mower  a  shield, 

It  gave  a  home  to  the  birds. 
Sturdy  and  broad,  it  guarded  the  farms 
With  its  brawny  trunk  and  knotted  arms. 

The  apple-tree  grew  by  the  wall, 
Ugly  and  crooked  and  black ; 

But  it  knew  the  gardener's  call, 
And  the  children  rode  on  its  back. 

It  scattered  its  blossoms  upon  the  air, 

It  covered  the  ground  with  fruitage  fair. 


SONGS   OF    WINTER.  289 

"  Now,  hey,"  said  the  pine,  "for  the  wood ! 

Come  live  with  the  forest  band. 
Our  comrades  will  do  you  good, 

And  tall  and  straight  you  will  stand." 
And  he  swung  his  boughs  to  a  witching  sound, 
And  flung  his  cones  like  coins  around. 

"  O-ho  !  "  laughed  the  sturdy  oak  ; 

"  The  life  of  the  field  for  me. 
I  weather  the  lightning-stroke  ; 

My  branches  are  broad  and  free. 
Grow  straight  and  slim  in  the  wood  if  you  will, 
Give  me  the  sun  and  the  wind-swept  hill." 

And  the  apple-tree  murmured  low, 

"  I  am  neither  straight  nor  strong ; 
Crooked  my  back  doth  grow 

With  bearing  my  burdens  long." 
And  it  dropped  its  fruit  as  it  dropped  a  tear, 
And  reddened  the  ground  with  fragrant  cheer. 

And  the  Lord  of  the  harvest  heard, 

And  he  said  :   "I  have  use  for  all ; 
For  the  bough  that  shelters  a  bird, 

For  the  beam  that  pillars  a  hall ; 
And  grow  they  tall,  or  grow  they  ill, 
They  grow  but  to  wait  their  Master's  will." 

So  a  ship  of  the  oak  was  sent 

Far  over  the  ocean  blue, 
And  the  pine  was  the  mast  that  bent 

As  over  the  waves  it  flew, 
And  the  ruddy  fruit  of  the  apple-tree 
Was  borne  to  a  starving  isle  of  the  sea. 


290  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

Now  the  farmer  grows  like  the  oak, 
And  the  townsman  is  proud  and  tall ; 

The  city  and  field  are  full  of  folk  — 
But  the  Lord  has  need  of  all. 


5^C 


THE    BODY. 

ROM  the  top  of  my  head  to  my  tiny  toes, 
I  am  built  of  bones  as  every  one  knows. 


—  Selected. 


F 


These  are  the  framework  so  strong  within ; 
Outside  they  are  covered  with  flesh  and  skin. 

The  parts  of  my  body  are  only  three, 

My  head,  my  trunk,  and  my  limbs  as  you  see. 

My  head  has  a  back,  two  sides,  and  a  crown, 

All  covered  with  hair,  yellow,  black,  red,  or  brown. 

And  just  in  front,  in  the  foremost  place, 
You  plainly  can  see  my  neat  little  face. 

My  face  has  a  forehead,  nose,  mouth,  and  chin, 
Two  cheeks  where  the  dimples  slip  out  and  in. 

Two  eyes  to  see  you  when  you  are  near, 
Two  ears  like  seashells,  to  help  me  to  hear. 

My  neck  and  shoulders  so  broad  and  strong, 
Arm,  forearm,  wrist,  hand,  and  fingers  so  long. 

My  trunk,  and  my  thighs,  legs,  ankles,  and  knees, 
On  two  feet  I  stand,  or  run,  if  I  please. 


SONGS   OF   WINTER.  291 

My  joints  are  to  bend,  when  I  run,  jump,  or  walk; 
I've  a  little  red  tongue  to  help  me  to  talk. 

These  make  up  my  body,  and  now  I  will  tell 
What  we  all  must  do  to  keep  strong  and  well. 

To  be  neat  and  clean  we  must  take  great  care, 
Have  plenty  of  sunshine  and  breathe  the  fresh  air. 

Eat  nourishing  food  to  make  good  blood  ;  and  then 
We  shall  all  become  strong  women  and  men. 

—  Selected. 


TWO    AND    ONE. 

TWO  ears  and  only  one  mouth  have  you ; 
The  reason,  I  think,  is  clear ; 
It  teaches,  my  child,  that  it  will  not  do 
To  talk  about  all  you  hear. 

Two  eyes  and  only  one  mouth  have  you ; 

The  reason  of  this  must  be 
That  you  should  learn  that  it  will  not  do 

To  talk  about  all  you  see. 

Two  hands  and  only  one  mouth  have  you  ; 

And  it  is  worth  while  repeating  ; 
The  two  are  for  work  that  you  must  do, 

The  one  is  enough  for  eating. 

—  Selected. 


# 


292  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 


WHAT   THE   COAL   SAYS. 


i 


AM  as  black  as  black  can  be, 

But  yet  I  shine. 
My  home  was  deep  within  the  earth, 

In  a  dark  mine. 
Ages  ago  I  was  buried  there, 

And  yet  I  hold 
The  sunshine  and  the  heat  which  warmed 

That  world  of  old. 
Though  black  and  cold  I  seem  to  be, 

Yet  I  can  glow. 
Just  put  me  on  a  blazing  fire, 

Then  you  will  know. 


—  Selected. 


3XX< 


THE   CANARY'S    STORY. 

I   HAVE  a  little  mistress, 
Her  name  is  Kitty  Blair ; 
She  always  used  to  give  me 

The  very  best  of  care. 
But  now  she  has  two  Dollies 

She  never  thinks  of  me, 
And  I'm  just  as  much  neglected 
As  a  little  bird  can  be. 

When  I  sing  my  very  sweetest, 

As  I  always  try  to  do, 
She  covers  up  my  cage,  and  says, 

"  Oh,  what  a  great  ado  ! 


SONGS   OF   WINTER.  293 

I'm  sure  I  shall  be  deafened  !  " 

Then  she  starts  and  runs  away, 
And  I  see  no  more  of  Kitty 

Through  all  the  weary  day. 

My  bath  is  always  empty  now, 

And  I've  very  little  seed  ; 
When  I've  had  a  lump  of  sugar 

'Twould  be  hard  to  tell,  indeed. 
My  cage  is  quite  untidy, 

But  Kitty  heeds  it  not; 
And  I  call  her,  oh !  how  vainly  — 

For  alas  !  I  am  forgot. 

I've  trilled  my  sweetest  melodies; 

Alas  !  'tis  all  in  vain. 
I'll  fold  my  head  beneath  my  wing 

And  never  more  complain. 
"  My  heart  is  broken,  Kitty, 

But  I'll  forgive  you,  dear; 
And  I'm  sure  you  will  be  sorry 

And  will  shed  for  me  a  tear." 

When  Kitty  heard  the  mournful  strain, 

Her  heart  was  full  of  grief. 
She  left  her  Dollies  then  in  haste, 

And  ran  to  his  relief. 
She  put  fresh  paper  on  the  floor, 

And  seed  within  the  cup, 
And  water  in  the  tiny  bath, 

Then  took  poor  Birdie  up, 

And  gently  stroked  his  yellow  wings, 
And  whispered  words  so  low, 


294  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

I  think  he  must  have  understood, 

For  this  I  surely  know: 
He  opened  wide  his  bright,  black  eye, 

Then  on  his  perch  he  flew, 
And  poured  such  tide  of  melody 

As  mortal  never  knew. 


—  E.  V.S. 


>**:< 


THE    LITTLE    KITTENS. 

TWO  little  kittens,  one  stormy  night, 
Began  to  quarrel  and  then  to  fight ; 
One  had  a  mouse,  the  other  had  none, 
And  that  was  the  way  the  quarrel  begun. 

"  I'll  have  that  mouse,"  said  the  bigger  cat. 
"  You'll  have  that  mouse  ?     We'll  see  about  that." 
"  I  will  have  that  mouse,"  said  the  elder  son. 
"You  won't  have  that  mouse!  "  said  the  little  one. 

I  told  you  before  'twas  a  stormy  night 
When  these  two  little  kittens  began  to  fight; 
The  old  woman  seized  her  sweeping  broom, 
And  swept  the  two  kittens  right  out  of  the  room. 

The  ground  was  covered  with  frost  and  snow, 
And  the  two  little  kittens  had  nowhere  to  go ; 
So  they  laid  them  down  on  the  mat  at  the  door, 
While  the  angry  old  woman  was  sweeping  the  floor. 

And  then  they  crept  in  as  quiet  as  mice, 
All  wet  with  snow,  and  as  cold  as  ice ; 


SONGS   OF   WINTER.  295 


For  they  found  it  was  better,  that  stormy  night, 
To  lie  down  and  sleep  than  to  quarrel  and  fight. 

—  Selected. 


>>^c 


THEY    DIDN'T   THINK. 

ONCE  a  trap  was  baited 
With  a  piece  of  cheese ; 
It  tickled  so  a  little  mouse 

It  almost  made  him  sneeze  ; 
An  old  rat  said,  "There's  danger, 

Be  careful  where  you  go  !  " 
"  Nonsense  ! "  said  the  other, 

"  I  don't  think  you  know  !  " 
So  he  walked  in  boldly  — 

Nobody  in  sight ; 
First  he  took  a  nibble, 

Then  he  took  a  bite ; 
Close  the  trap  together 

Snapped  as  quick  as  wink, 
Catching  mousey  fast  there, 

'Cause  he  didn't  think. 

Once  a  little  turkey, 

Fond  of  her  own  way, 
Wouldn't  ask  the  old  ones 

Where  to  go  or  stay ; 
She  said,  "  I'm  not  a  baby, 

Here  I  am  half -grown  ; 
Surely  I  am  big  enough 

To  run  about  alone !  " 


296  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

Off  she  went,  but  somebody 

Hiding  saw  her  pass ; 
Soon  like  snow  her  feathers 

Covered  all  the  grass. 
So  she  made  a  supper 

For  a  sly  young  mink, 
'Cause  she  was  so  headstrong 

That  she  wouldn't  think. 

Once  there  was  a  robin 

Lived  outside  the  door, 
Who  wanted  to  go  inside 

And  hop  upon  the  floor. 
"  No,  no,"  said  the  mother, 

"  You  must  stay  with  me  ; 
Little  birds  are  safest 

Sitting  in  a  tree." 
"  I  don't  care,"  said  Robin, 

And  gave  his  tail  a  fling, 
"  I  don't  think  the  old  folks 

Know  quite  everything." 
Down  he  flew,  and  Kitty  seized  him, 

Before  he'd  time  to  blink ; 
"  Oh,"  he  cried,  "  I'm  sorry, 

But  I  didn't  think." 

Now,  my  little  children, 

You  who  read  this  song, 
Don't  you  see  what  trouble 

Comes  of  thinking  wrong  ? 
And  can't  you  take  a  warning 

From  their  dreadful  fate 
Who  began  their  thinking 

When  it  was  too  late  ? 


SONGS   OF  WINTER.  297 

Don't  think  there's  always  safety 

When  no  danger  shows ; 
Don't  suppose  you  know  more 

Than  anybody  knows ; 
But  when  you're  warned  of  ruin, 

Pause  upon  the  brink, 

And  don't  go  under  headlong, 

'Cause  you  didn't  think. 

—  Phcebe  Cary. 


>*»« 


THE    BEAUTIFUL    ISLAND    OF   CEYLON. 

OH,  this  beautiful  island  of  Ceylon 
With  the  cocoanut-trees  on  the  shore, 
It  is  shaped  like  a  pear  with  the  peel  on, 
And  Kandy  lies  in  at  the  core. 

And  Kandy  is  sweet  (you  ask  Gertie) 

Even  when  it  is  spelt  with  a  K, 
And  the  people  are  cheerful  and  dirty, 

And  dress  in  a  comical  way. 

Here  comes  a  particular  dandy, 

With  two  ear-rings  and  half  of  a  shirt ; 

He's  considered  the  swell  of  all  Kandy, 
And  the  rest  of  him's  covered  with  dirt. 

And  here  comes  the  belle  of  the  city, 

With  rings  on  her  delicate  toes, 
And  eyes  that  are  painted  and  pretty, 

And  a  jewel  that  shakes  in  her  nose. 


298  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

And  the  dear  little  girls  and  their  brothers; 

And  the  babies  so  jolly  and  fat, 
Astride  on  the  hips  of  their  mothers 

And  as  black  as  a  gentleman's  hat. 

And  the  queer  little  heaps  of  old  women ; 

And  the  shaven  Buddhistical  priests ; 
And  the  lake  which  the  worshipers  swim  in ; 

And  the  wagons  with  curious  beasts. 

The  tongue  they  talk  mostly  is  Tamul, 
Which  sounds  you  can  hardly  tell  how ; 

It  is  half  like  the  scream  of  a  camel, 
And  half  like  the  grunt  of  a  sow. 

—  Phillips  Brooks. 

x>^o^ 


THE    FERRY    FOR   SHADOWTOWN. 

SWAY  to  and  fro  in  the  twilight  gray; 
This  is  the  ferry  for  Shadowtown; 
It  always  sails  at  the  end  of  the  day, 
Just  as  the  darkness  closes  down. 

Rest,  little  head,  on  my  shoulder  so ; 

A  sleepy  kiss  is  the  only  fare ; 
Drifting  away  from  the  world  we  go, 

Baby  and  I  in  the  rocking-chair. 

See,  where  the  fire-logs  glow  and  spark, 
Glitter  the  lights  of  the  shadowland ; 

The  raining  drops  on  the  window,  —  hark  ! 
Are  ripples  lapping  upon  its  strand. 


SONGS   OF   WINTER.  299 

There,  where  the  mirror  is  glancing  dim, 
A  lake  lies  shimmering,  cool  and  still ; 

Blossoms  are  waving  above  its  brim, 
Those  over  there  on  the  window-sill. 

Rock  slow,  more  slow  in  the  dusky  light, 

Silently  lower  the  anchor  down. 
Dear  little  passenger,  say  "  Good-night !  " 

We've  reached  the  harbor  for  Shadowtown  ! 

—  Motherhood. 


>>«< 


THE    STARS'    BALL. 

OH  !  the  stars,  one  and  all, 
They  had  a  great  ball 
One  night,  way  up  in  the  sky ; 
They  invited  the  Earth 
To  join  in  their  mirth, 

But  it  feared  to  go  up  so  high. 

No  fiddler  had  they 
Their  music  to  play, 

And  the  stars  were  afraid  'twould  fail ; 
But  the  man  in  the  moon 
He  whistled  a  tune, 

And  the  comet  kept  time  with  his  tail. 

They  danced,  and  they  danced, 
And  they  pranced,  and  they  pranced, 

Till  the  Moon  said  'twas  all  he  desired 
For  his  lips  were  so  sore 
He  could  whistle  no  more, 

And  the  comet  began  to  get  tired. 


300  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

So  they  faded  away 
In  the  dim  light  of  day, 

The  moon  and  the  stars  from  the  ball. 
But  sad  to  relate, 
Next  night  they  were  late, 

And  came  near  not  shining  at  all. 

—  Ladies'  Home  Journal. 


OUR   FLAG. 

FLAG  of  our  country  brave, 
Red,  white,  and  blue, 
We  love  to  watch  thee  wave ; 

Our  love  is  true. 
Oh  !  let  us  loudly  sing  ! 
Loudly  let  our  praises  ring, 
Praise  to  this  noble  thing, 
Red,  white,  and  blue. 

Red  is  the  blood  that  rolls ; 

Blue  is  the  sky ; 
White  are  the  heroes'  souls, 

For  thee  that  die. 
Oh  !  let  us  loudly  sing  ! 
Loudly  let  our  praises  ring, 
Praise  that  this  holy  thing 

Still  waves  on  high. 

Broad  is  our  native  land,  — 

Land  of  the  free, 
'Mong  all  the  nations  grand, 

Foremost  to  be.- 


SONGS  OF  W/JVTEX.  301 

Oh !  let  us  loudly  sing  ! 

Thanks  unto  our  God  and  King, 

Thanks  for  this  noble  thing, 

Father,  to  Thee  ! 

—  Selected. 


:>^< 


HURRAH    FOR   THE    FLAG. 

THERE  are  many  flags  in  many  lands, 
There  are  flags  of  every  hue, 
But  there  is  no  flag,  however  grand, 
Like  our  own  "  Red,  White,  and  Blue." 

I  know  where  the  prettiest  colors  are, 

And  I'm  sure  if  I  only  knew 
How  to  get  them  here  I  could  make  a  flag 

Of  glorious  "  Red,  White,  and  Blue." 

I  would  cut  a  piece  from  an  evening  sky, 
Where  the  stars  were  shining  through, 

And  use  it  just  as  it  was  on  high, 
For  my  stars  and  field  of  blue. 

Then  I'd  want  a  part  of  a  fleecy  cloud, 
And  some  red  from  a  rainbow  bright ; 

And  put  them  together  side  by  side, 
For  my  stripes  of  red  and  white. 

We  shall  always  love  the  "  Stars  and  Stripes," 

And  we  mean  to  be  ever  true 
To  this  land  of  ours  and  the  dear  old  flag, 

The  Red,  the  White,  and  the  Blue. 


302  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

Then  hurrah  for  the  flag  !  our  country's  flag, 

Its  stripes  and  white  stars  too ; 
There  is  no  flag  in  any  land, 

Like  our  own  "  Red,  White,  and  Blue  ! " 

—  Selected. 


SWEET   AND    LOW. 

SWEET  and  low,  sweet  and  low, 
Wind  of  the  western  sea ; 
Low,  low,  breathe  and  blow, 
Wind  of  the  western  sea ! 
Over  the  rolling  waters  go, 
Come  from  the  dying  moon,  and  blow, 

Blow  him  again  to  me ; 
While  my  little  one,  while  my  pretty  one,  sleeps. 

Sleep  and  rest,  sleep  and  rest, 

Father  will  come  to  thee  soon ; 
Rest,  rest,  on  mother's  breast, 

Father  will  come  to  thee  soon  ; 
Father  will  come  to  his  babe  in  the  nest, 
Silver  sails  all  out  of  the  west, 

Under  the  silver  moon  ; 
Sleep,  my  little  one,  sleep,  my  pretty  one,  sleep. 

—  Tennyson. 


SONGS   OF   WINTER.  303 


DUTCH  LULLABY. 

WYNKEN,  Blynken,  and  Nod  one  night 
Sailed  off  in  a  wooden  shoe, — 
Sailed  on  a  river  of  misty  light 

Into  a  sea  of  dew. 
"  Where  are  you  going,  and  what  do  you  wish  ? 

The  old  moon  asked  the  three. 
"  We  have  come  to  fish  for  the  herring-fish 
That  live  in  this  beautiful  sea ; 
Nets  of  silver  and  gold  have  we," 
Said  Wynken, 
Blynken, 
And  Nod. 

The  old  moon  laughed  and  sung  a  song, 

As  they  rocked  in  the  wooden  shoe ; 
And  the  wind  that  sped  them  all  night  long, 

Ruffled  the  waves  of  dew ; 
The  little  stars  were  the  herring-fish 

That  lived  in  the  beautiful  sea. 
"  Now  cast  your  nets  wherever  you  wish, 
But  never  afeard  are  we  !  " 
So  cried  the  stars  to  the  fishermen  three,  — 
Wynken, 
Blynken, 
And  Nod. 

All  night  long  their  nets  they  threw 
For  the  fish  in  the  twinkling  foam, 

Then  down  from  the  sky  came  the  wooden  shoe, 
Bringing  the  fishermen  home ; 


304  NATURE  IN  VERSE. 

'Twas  all  so  pretty  a  sail,  it  seemed 

As  if  it  could  not  be  ; 
And  some  folk  thought  'twas  a  dream  they'd  dreamed, 
Of  sailing  that  beautiful  sea ; 
But  I  shall  name  you  the  fishermen  three,  — 
Wynken, 
Blynken, 
And  Nod. 

Wynken  and  Blynken  are  two  little  eyes, 

And  Nod  is  a  little  head, 
And  the  wooden  shoe  that  sailed  the  skies 

Is  a  wee  one's  trundle-bed  ; 
So  shut  your  eyes  while  mother  sings 

Of  wonderful  sights  that  be, 
And  you  shall  see  the  beautiful  things 
As  you  rock  on  the  misty  sea 
Where  the  old  shoe  rocked  the  fishermen  three, — 
Wynken, 
Blynken, 
And  Nod. 
—  Eugene  Field —  A  Little  Book  of  Western  Verse. 


>X*c 


GOOD-NIGHT. 

GOOD-NIGHT,  pretty  Sun,  good-night! 
I've  watched  your  purple  and  golden  light 
While  you  are  sinking  away  ; 
And  some  one  has  just  been  telling  me 
You're  making  o'er  the  shining  sea 

Another  beautiful  day ; 
That  just  at  the  time  I  am  going  to  sleep, 


SONGS   OF   WINTER.  305 

The  children  there  are  taking  a  peep 

At  your  face,  —  beginning  to  say, 
"  Good-morning  !  "  just  when  I  say  "  good-night !  " 
Now,  beautiful  Sun,  if  they've  told  me  right, 

I  wish  you'd  say  good-morning  for  me 

To  all  the  little  ones  over  the  sea. 

—  Sydney  Dayre. 


NOW   THE    DAY    IS    OVER. 

NOW  the  day  is  over, 
Night  is  drawing  nigh, 
Shadows  of  the  evening 
Steal  across  the  sky. 

Through  the  long  night-watches, 

May  Thine  angels  spread 
Their  white  wings  above  us ; 

Watching  round  each  bed. 

When  the  morning  wakens 

Then  may  I  arise 

Pure,  and  fresh,  and  sinless, 

In  Thy  holy  eyes. 

—  Sabine  Baring-Gould. 


C^e  jfimtiatttentalsJ  in  Cuucatton. 

Standard  and  Popular  Text-boohs  in  Reading,  Spelling,  Writing,  Lai, 
guage,  and  Number ;  also  in  Drawing  and  Music. 


The  Normal  Course  in  Reading.     By  Emma  J.  Todd,  formerly 

Training  Teacher  in  the  Public  Schools  of  Aurora,  111.,  and  W.  B. 
Powell,  A.M.,  Superintendent  of   City  Schools,  Washington,  D.C. 

This  series  includes  a  Primer,  New  First  Reader,  Second  Reader,  Third  Reader, 
Fourth  Reader,  and  Fifth  Reader,  besides  Alternate  First,  Second,  and  Third 
Readers. 

The  Normal  Course  in  Spelling.     For  Public  and  Private  Schools. 

By  Larkin  Dunton,  LL.D.,  Head  Master  of  the  Boston  Normal 
School,  and  C.  Goodwin  Clark,  A.M.,  late  Master  of  the  Gaston 
School. 

This  course  includes  a  Primary  Book,  Advanced  Book,  and  Complete  Course, 
besides  Spelling  Blanks. 

The  Normal  Review  System  of  Writing.  By  D.  H.  Far- 
ley, Professor  of  Penmanship  in  the  State  Normal  School  of  New 
Jersey,  at  Trenton,  and  W.  B.  Gunnison,  Principal  of  Public 
School  No.  19,  Brooklyn,  N.Y.,  Ex-President  of  the  New  York 
State  Teachers'  Association. 

This  system  includes  both  slanting  and  vertical  copies,  with  a  Manual  ofVertical 
Writing. 

The  Normal  Course  in  English.  By  Prof.  Alfred  H.  Welsh 
arid  J.  M.  Greenwood,  Superintendent  of  Schools,  Kansas  City, 
Mo. 

This  course  includes  "The  Elements  of  Language  and  Grammar,"  and  "Studies 
in  English  Grammar." 

The  Normal  Course  in  Number.  By  John  W.  Cook,  Presi- 
dent of  Illinois  State  Normal  University,'  and  Miss  N.  Cropsey, 
Assistant  Superintendent  of  City  Schools,  Indianapolis,  Ind. 

This  course  includes  an  Elementary  Arithmetic  and  the  New  Advanced 
Arithmetic. 

The  Normal  Course  in  Drawing.     By  Prof.  H.  W.  Shaylor, 

Director  of  Drawing  and  Penmanship  in  the  Public  Schools  of 
Portland,  Me. 

This  course  includes  nine  numbers,  besides  a  blank  Drawing-Book  and  a  Hand- 
book for  Teachers. 

The  Normal  Music  Course.     By  Jor>:  w.  Tufts  and  H.  E. 

Holt.  A  complete  Series  of  Music  Readers  and  Charts,  for  every 
grade  of  School  and  Class  Instruction  in  Vocal  Music. 


SILVER,  BURDETT  &  COMPANY,  Publishers. 

Boston.        New  York.        Philadelphia.        Chicago. 


